Wandering Time
by betweenthetrees
Summary: She thinks her life is typical. But then she starts to travel time. Desperately seeking to stop traveling or at least control it, she sees things in her future that change everything. She realizes that she wouldn't change a thing. AU
1. Chapter 1

**_Disclaimer: I do not own The Secret Life of the American Teenager or its characters. Only the characters that I create are mine._**

**A/N:** New idea I had for a story! Okay, I know this is definitely different than probably anything that's been written for Secret Life. This is not going to be like the show, and I probably won't include any spoilers. But this story will be in character as best as I can get it. I've been reading a lot about time traveling lately (lol), and I got inspired to write this. I don't know how this story's going to work out, or if it'll even be any good. But let's just see where this goes :D I hope you like it, but if not, well.. oh, well.

_Oh, and also, this story will be written in Present Tense. I know that's a little weird, but I want to see how it works. _And another thing, I'm seriously not copying this idea from The Time Traveler's Wife. I'm going to put the dates though, but I promise I'm not stealing this from that book.

**And one thing that I made up is Amy's birthday. It isn't mentioned in the show, so I just guessed a reasonable birthday (Since I think her birthday is sometime in the summer), and it's going to be August 15. School starts in August, and when Amy was in 9th grade, she was already 15. So her birthday must be pretty early. Amy is sixteen now.**

Anyway, I've said enough! Hope you like the story! :D

**(The present date in the beginning of the chapter is December 27. The beginning isn't meant to be the past. It just shows how everything began.)**

* * *

_Saturday, October 31, 2009_

It's a typical night for me- only today is Halloween, and for the first time in two years, we actually have trick-or-treaters. I sit on the single step in the front of my house, and I see three little girls, all dressed as witches, treading through the darkness and coming my way. You know, it's a little weird handing out candy to children while juggling a seven month baby in one arm.

To be more specific, this baby is my baby- John. The kids, of course, hesitate before taking their candy so they can flash a look at John. I simply ignore them, and they take the tootsie rolls, reeses, and snickers, and, seemingly pleased, they head back down the path.

I sigh when I see about ten kids scurrying toward our house. I stand up and give the bucket of Halloween candy to my mother, who is standing right in the doorway. I don't know why kids chose to come to our house. We didn't decorate any. We haven't even had time to decorate.

We are so occupied with the two babies in the house: John, who is, of course, my son, and Robbie, my mom and Dad's three month old son that we don't have much time to do anything other than to accommodate for the children.

I shut the door when I get to my room, and I listlessly throw on John's black Halloween pajamas, which are designed with little orange candy corn and pumpkin patterns. He is calm and close to somnolence in my arms, and I be sure to tuck him into his crib in the nursery before huddling to my window and sitting between the arch.

I stare out into the gloomy night and watch kids with their parents tracing the entire neighborhood. I flinch when I hear John crying, obviously not sleeping as peacefully as I thought he was. _Please, can I just have one night where a baby isn't crying?_ I think.

Completely shutting out the noise, and epically failing, I focus my eyes on the leaves outside of the window, blowing briskly around in the wind. The wind picks up speed and brushes loudly against the house, almost sounding like an earthquake.

Although the moon is out tonight, there are large clouds in the sky, separated apart to look somewhat like a black hole.

And when the noise gets to be too much, and when I can not help but hear the crying, I kneel down beside my window and press against my ears to try to block out the sound. In the corner of my eye, I see the door fly open.

I twist around, feeling like I'm in a trance, to see Ricky standing there in the doorway saying, "Happy Halloween!"

But everything had already started blurring out, and the room was spinning ever since I had stood up from that window to see Ricky. I rub at my eyes to try to clear my vision, but then I feel weird. I feel _different_, like I'm disappearing.

Ricky just stares at me, and I motion for him to leave, afraid that something's wrong with me, and I don't want him to see. And then everything changes. I feel like I'm blacking out, and then the world around me turns black for a second, and I feel like I'm flying. Or, rather, jumping into a different dimension and place in time.

This was when it all started.

* * *

_Sunday, December 27, 2009 (Present)_

I seek for an answer to what is happening to me. The first thing that crosses my mind when I think of this proceeding is that I'm demented and going through a mental breakdown or emotional crisis. Then I'm back in the present again, and it all seems like a dream.

But whenever I have a quick change in my mood, or when I feel overwhelmed or stressed about something, I'll end up in some different time. I haven't recognized a time yet, but so far I mostly have been traveling into the past. Only a few times I've traveled into the future.

When I go to the future it can be only minutes or hours later, but sometimes it's years into the future. None of my encounters have had any significant or noticeable meaning to them. I've come to the conclusion that I can only travel back to as far as I've been alive, which is not very long ago. Some of the times I've remembered. Like, for instance, I went back to when my family and I went to the zoo.

Thankfully, I haven't visited a time about Ricky and me or band camp or Ben. I have though, however, went to a time in Ricky's past. He was about seven or eight years old, and I saw him meeting his foster parents for the first time.

I don't know what is going on. I don't know why this is happening to _me_. Are there others like me? Or is it just me alone?

I've also come to the conclusion that what has happened in the past has already happened, and there's no way around it and I can't change a thing about it. Things can happen differently when I go there, but when I go back to my present, it doesn't mean anything, because nothing will change or be any different.

And I feel that the future can probably change based on what further historical actions happen, and what I do and the people around me. I don't believe that the future is set in stone. But I can't be too sure.

Right now I stand in the living room. My parents, Ashley, and I are circled around the table gawking and going through Christmas presents from two days ago. So, we aren't exactly "religious", but we choose to celebrate the holiday. It is a good environment for John and Robbie to grow up in, I suppose.

"All of this paper needs to be thrown away, Ashley," my mother says.

"We should have took care of this on Christmas, don't you think?" Dad says. "Now we have all this mess to clean up."

"Well, you guys were too busy _conversing_ with Mimzy and all your friends that you forgot you needed to keep the place clean. Not that it's really ever _clean_ anyway around here. Everything's always just thrown around, so it really doesn't matter, right?" Ashley comments sarcastically.

I keep quiet. I'm sure my family's wondering why I'm acting so strange, but I would just tell them that I'm tired. Why would they believe me anyway if I told them what was happening with me? This was something I could never tell anyone. I didn't want to have to go to the hospital because people think I'm crazy.

After finishing throwing away a portion of the Christmas paper, I turn from my parents and sister. "I think I'm gonna go to bed," I say.

"It's only Ten," Ashley says suspiciously.

I try to remain nonchalant. Ashley is always good about knowing when something was going on with me, and she's always good about figuring out what it is. But this time she wouldn't. Never would Ashley think I was time traveling.

Even if she happened to see me disappear, she wouldn't think that. I slowly start fading away, but then in a quick snap I'm gone. Most of the time people just think I run away or hide quickly. That's what I would think if I saw someone disappear in front of me.

I do have to be careful, though. When I feel myself starting to drift away, I have to flee from wherever I am and make sure I don't let anyone see me. Just in case. I can't control when I leave or go somewhere. It just happens. There's nothing I can do to control it.

"Yeah, but we have to go back to school tomorrow," I tell her. We've been out of school for one week before Christmas and on Christmas Eve and Day, and now the break's over. I really wasn't looking forward to it, but school was the last thing I had to worry about now. It seems that my whole life has changed, and I look at a lot of things differently now.

I go to my room and shut the door. The first thing I see is car headlights shining through my window. I jump, and then I'm gone.

_Saturday, April 21, 2012_

I'm in a small closet with clothes surrounding me. I barely peer out the blinds on the door, and I see two so-very-familiar people standing there in the bedroom. The father of my son, Ricky, is standing there, seemingly arguing with his "girlfriend" Adrian Lee. Of course I can't go out there. They'd know that something was weird about me.

"You don't have to go," she says.

"Yes," he says firmly, "I do. It's my son's birthday today. We'll just talk about this later."

He starts to turn around, but Adrian grabs him around the arm to stop him from leaving. "Ricky, I know you know what I want to talk to you about! I'm not letting you leave until you let me talk to you about this."

He sighs. "Fine, what is it? I really don't know."

"It's Amy," she says. _Me?_ "I know that you're with her. We all do. There's no reason for you to get all offensive about it, Ricky! Just let me talk to you! Please!"

"You think you know everything, but you really don't," he says.

She looks upset. "You're right! Just help me understand!"

"No," he tells her. "Look, Adrian, I can't hang around here. We both have problems we need to get over, and I'm dealing with mine. I'm not going to let you cheat with me. Max deserves better than that."

_Who's Max? _"Whatever," she snaps. And then I see her pull something out of her pocket. She waves it around in front of her, and then pulls it to the side. And then I realize- it's a gun!

Without thinking, I run out of the closet and scream, "No, no, no! Don't do that! Stop!" They both turn around and stare at me with the most dumbfounded, questioning, and confused look on their face.

Then I feel stupid. I can tell that they're both older, while I'm only sixteen years old. I guess that they're both around twenty something. I feel like an utter moron, because I see that what Adrian is holding isn't a gun. It's just a cell phone.

"_Ha_..._ha_..." I choke out, anticipating the words sheepishly.

"Uh.." Ricky starts to fake laugh a little, too. "Adrian, would you mind leaving for just a few seconds? There's something very important I need to talk to Amy about," he says. He glares at her, waiting for her to move or to say something, and she just grimaces.

She gives the two of us a fake smile. "Of course," and then she walks out.

"Amy, how are you? What.. what is going on? When are you coming from?" he asks.

I feel my heart sink in my chest. Does he know about my time traveling? Why would I ever tell Ricky about it? Or did he just see me fade away and start asking questions? I swallow nervously and guiltily and ask, "What's the year?"

I hope to God that he doesn't think I'm insane. "The year is 2012," he answers calmly. Okay. So he _does_ know. "What year are you coming from, Amy?" he repeats.

"2009," I say. "How," I whisper,"..how did you find out?"

"You told me," is his simple response.

_I told him?_ Why would I tell him? And why were they both acting so weird a few minutes ago? Adrian said that Ricky is _with_ me, but if we're together, then why is he over at Adrian's house? I scowl.

"Are we together or something?" I ask.

He shrugs. "It's complicated."

"Complicated how?"

He sighs, and something about his expression makes it difficult for me to believe his words: "We're not in a relationship. We-we're not together. But neither are Adrian and I. I'm just over here because she said she needed to talk to me about something. It's something about you, but she hasn't told me yet."

"About me?" I say, and it doesn't really sound like a question. I already heard her say she needed to talk to him about me.

He nods, "Mmm," and mumbles.

"Ricky! You have to tell me more. What's going on?" I question him. I look at him, and the age in him is definitely noticeable. His hair is a little longer now; it looks about the same, only in the front it comes down longer on the side of his face.

"Do you want me to spoil your life for you?" he asks, slightly raising an eyebrow and smiling a familiar smirk.

I give him a look of disbelief.

He sighs. "In a few years you'll find out. Not much has changed, okay? Tell me, what's going on right now in 2009?"

"Nothing," I say. "It's two days after Christmas in the present. I was throwing away Christmas paper and wrapping and stuff with my parents and Ashley, and then I went to my room, saw headlights of a car, I got scared, and then jumped forward in time."

He smiles. "I'm about to come over."

"You remember?"

"Mmhmm," he mutters. "It was just two years ago. And it was barely after Christmas, so of course I remember."

"What do you say to me?" I ask.

"You'll see. It might change. I'm not really a professional about this time traveling thing. That would be _you_."

"Ricky, just tell me what you remember us saying. I just want to know. I need to know how this work; I still haven't really figured it out. If the future has already happened, then does that mean nothing's really just random? Is everything really meant to happen?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "I don't think so. I think some things are just so obvious and predictable that they're already going to happen. And then some things, the really important things, can change or not change depending on how you feel about it or-"

"That doesn't make sense!" I practically yell at him, and then I feel lightheaded. I know what's happening next. "Ricky, I have to go."

"Wait, no-"

"I- I can't stop it! I'm sorry!" And everything fades out.

_Thursday, August 12, 2018_

I'm in a large, beautiful blue bedroom in a huge, fluffy bed. I smell a mixture of alcohol and something fruity. There's a full-body mirror straight ahead at the opposite side of the room.

I almost scream when I look to the right of me. It's Ricky. He's lying in bed beside me, halfway under the covers, with no shirt on. I shudder at the thought that he may not have any clothes on at all. He has a hint of a stubble on his chin and around his jawline, and I guess that I'm somewhere between 2015 and 2025.

"Hey," I hear a deep voice say. I gulp and notice the voice coming from _him_. I can't even say the name or think it. The situation is too surprising and almost overwhelming to me. "Is everything okay?"

"What's today?" I ask.

He sits up instinctively and looks like he realizes something. Then he says gently, like he answers this question a lot, "Thursday, August 12, 2018. What's the day for you? In the present?"

"It's-" I pause, forgetting the exact date. "It's 2009. Ricky, have I ever been here with you before when this time was my present?" I ask him, slowly walking myself through this so I can understand.

"Of course," he says. And then I see that uncertainty, filled with lies, in his eyes again. "Just last night you were here with me. But our times don't really work the same way. It's like there's two of you."

My eyes get really wide.

"But of course there isn't," he says quickly. "You just haven't lived this yet, but I have. _We_ have. We started at different times, so everything's all over the place. I do miss you, though, when you're not with me."

_Huh?_ "Whoa, what? Stop. What do you mean _we_ have? And what do you mean we started at different times? What did we start at different times? Do.. do you travel time, too?"

"I guess I've said too much. Sorry, I forgot you don't know anything about this yet," he says, and he makes no further attempt to explain.

"I don't understand."

There is a knock at the door, and a smile almost of relief washes across Ricky's face, and he answers it by saying, "Come in."

I hear the door open, and a girl walks in. She looks around four or five years old. She has long, brown hair and big, beautiful brown eyes. She's wearing a dress and cuddling a stuffed animal with her. When she smiles, I'm gone.

* * *

Okay, so hopefully you liked it! :D I'm kind of excited for this story. I know it's different and probably a little weird, but I really want to know what you think of it! Just let me know.

Love it? Hate it?

Review!

:D


	2. Chapter 2

I've decided to continue this story :)

Just so you know, I'm going to make this story go pretty fast. Like, the days, will skip by quickly. I'm not going to spend three chapters on the same day is what I mean by that.

I'll probably have a time jump every other chapter, but it'll probably only be a few days or weeks.

Except in this chapter, I've skipped a few months. But I probably won't do that very much.

And I know this is kind of confusing.

But all that's happening is Amy is time traveling. She can't control when it happens and she can't stop it. When she goes into the future, she sometimes ends up being the age that she would be at that time, but sometimes she stays the same. And in the past, she'll be the same age when she was in the present.

Hope that makes sense.

:)

_And sorry for the long author's note!_

__

_Friday, April 1, 2010 (Present)_

It's in the middle of the night, and I'm still awake. It's only been six months since I've discovered my weird malfunction, but already I feel like I've been doing this for a while. It's definitely been going on too long. Although I haven't time traveled in two weeks, sometimes it can happen every day.

I hope that one day I will just wake up, and I'll find out that this is just one awful, long dream. But I know better than that, and there isn't a single person in the whole world that can help me. Okay, so supposedly Ricky is going to find out in the future about me. But when exactly _does_ he find out?

Hm. "Maybe when I go into the future, I'll ask him," I mumble to myself.

What I wonder more than anything is if there are other people like me. It sure makes me reconsider things after Ricky told me in the future, "_You just haven't lived this yet, but I have. _We _have. We started at different times, so everything's all over the place. I do miss you, though, when you're gone._"

But it was weird because he told me that he doesn't time travel. Wait, no, actually, he told me that he doesn't travel like _I_ do. I don't know what he meant by that. And I didn't know what he meant by "_You just haven't lived this yet, but I have. _We _have._" I couldn't get that out of my head. Who did he mean by _we_?

And then I remember.

I remember that little girl who came in the bedroom (_Ricky's bedroom?_). Maybe he was talking about her and himself. Does she time travel? Who is she, and why was she in Ricky's house or wherever we were?

"Okay, okay, you're dreaming. You're dreaming," I tell myself, but I don't believe me.

I look at the clock: 4:01 AM. I have school in only three hours. I sigh and listlessly push down the covers and blunder out of my room. I try to walk as quickly as possible down the hallway where as not to wake anyone up. "Okay, so you have two options," I whisper to myself. "Either let the future eventually take it's course and let Ricky find out for himself, or be brave and go and tell him."

I shut up. Talking to myself has become one of my habits over the last few months. Shrugging, I decide that it's a comfort to me and that's why I do it, and then I just let the concept go. _It doesn't really matter right now._ I, very quietly, sneak out of the door, and my feet dance down the two porch steps.

But then I change my mind and turn back around. I dart inside the door and slump down on the floor. _You're a wimp, _I think to myself.

"Amy, could you come in here for a second, please?" I jump when I hear my mom yelling to me from the other room. My heart starts pounding, and then I feel like I'm drifting away, and I disappear for the first time in two weeks.

___

_Saturday, June 20, 2008_

I appear beside the door of a very familiar building. I go inside, and I see tons of teenagers walking around, sitting at tables and eating lunch, talking, _et cetera, et cetera. _I recognize this place all too well. I see a past self of me sitting at a table on the other side of the room.

It's band camp.

Amy is sitting alone, and Ricky hasn't walked up to her (me) yet. The memory sends a chill down my back, but I quickly recoil from my fear. Quickly deciding what I need and want to do, I flip my hair in front of me to hide my face, and then I scurry over to the table and grab my past self's arm. Briefly I wonder if I take her away, and Ricky had never come up to me, would that mean I wouldn't have John when I get back to the present?

_No,_ I decide. What's already happened in the present cannot be changed. So, I guess, doing this will not change anything.

I hurriedly rummage around the room so I won't be seen, and I find a closet and shut the door. Amy gives me a weird look, like, _who are you?_ I stare at her which was me one year and a half ago.

Obviously she can tell the resemblance in the two of us. I haven't changed very much, only my hair is a little longer, and I've left it curly instead of straightened it. It's definitely weird seeing myself, but I know it's so much weirder for her.

"Hi," I tell her. I reposition myself in the cramped closet and realize my foot is stuck in a box. Grumbling and trying to free myself, I say, "So I know you must be confused, but I'm you, only in the future." I finally get my foot out of the box. "Except this is the past for me."

She stares, awestruck, but then smiles humorously a tiny bit, obviously because of the box incident. I remember when I used to be that shy and naive. Almost completely innocent. "That's not possible," she whispers, but I can tell that she must believe me. "How could you be . . . me?"

"Because I time traveled," I answer. "I know that sounds ridiculous, and I would have said so last year. But around six months ago this started happening. I don't know why, and it doesn't make any sense. I'm not really sure why I came here, but it's just something that happens. I can't control where I go or when I go."

"Why are you talking to me now?" she asks.

"I wanted to tell you about your.. _our_ future. I don't think that what already happened can change. I've went to the past before, and anything that I change never makes a difference to me in the present-"

"That doesn't make any sense," she interrupts me.

I laugh. That's exactly what I told Ricky the other day in the future. "I know it doesn't, but it's true. If you can't tell just by looking at me that I'm telling the truth.. well, I don't know. But you're going to sleep with Ricky Underwood, and you're going to have a baby. His name is John, and right now, in the Present, he's a year old. Go back and sit down at the table. Talk to Ricky, and do everything the way you already would. I don't think anything will change, but I just want to be sure."

She looks perplexed, and her eyes widen. "You're trying to tell me that I have a baby, and- and you don't want that to change?"

I think hard about this. I would love to have a normal life, but I didn't want to lose John. I didn't want anything to change. It just wouldn't feel right. "Just trust me on this. He's going to take you to your cabin, and well, that's where it happens. Don't let my future change."

"I thought you said it couldn't change anyway?"

"I don't _think_ it can," I say firmly. "But you can never be too sure." I feel like I'm about leave. "I have to go now."

"What?"

I grab my past self's hand and tell her stiffly, "Just do what I told you. Don't let anything change, do you understand me?" I glare at her and watch her confounded face before leaving.

It feels like I've completed some kind of task or something. I don't understand it, but I know myself well enough to trust that I would listen to a warning or premonition from someone. Especially from myself. But I was kind of worried, though. I wasn't sure if I would feel the same way about it then.

_____

_Friday, April 1, 2010 (Present)_

_Nothing's going to change. It can't change. _I repeat to myself. I appear inside my house, beside the door just like I had been before. I take a huge breath to calm myself so I won't feel stressed and get jumped back or forward in time.

"John!" I yell. I automatically run to his room to make sure he's still in here, and I breathe a sigh of relief when I find him sleeping peacefully in his bed. "_Thank God,_" I whisper. I quietly walk up to him, and I kiss him on his forehead. "I love you, John."

Relieved, I walk into my own room and bundle up in the bed. The only noise my ears focus on is the _ticktocking_ of the clock hanging on the corner of my wall. I think about how ironic it is, and how time might not have any meaning to it at all.

I sigh and can't sleep. I sit up in the bed; it's already six in the morning, so I decide to give up on sleeping. Maybe I can convince my mom to let me stay home today. I'll pretend that I'm sick or something. _Maybe I am sick,_ I think, _or at least everyone would think so if they only knew what's going on with me._

"Hey," a deep voice comes from the doorway.

I cringe and practically fall out of the bed, and then I say without thinking, "Oh, crap, Ricky! You scared me half to death!" My voice sounds shaky, and the panic is evident in my voice. I draw a huge breath and try to pull myself together so I won't disappear. I'm not ready for Ricky to find out. I know that he _is_ going to find out, but I don't want him to now. So I must take a precaution to keep my stress under control.

Apparently amused, he laughs with a very egotistic smirk and says, "Sorry. I-" he pauses, not able to get the words out from laughing. He finally calms down and continues, "I just thought you should know that there's no school today because of the storm."

"Storm?" I ask, mostly to myself. I still sit on the floor from when I fell, and I glance over at the window and immediately see this _storm_. It's like I'm noticing it for the first time. There are dark clouds in the sky, and it's pouring down rain. "Oh," I say, "I didn't notice that." _How could I not have noticed that?_

"Hmm," he mumbles. "Just thought I'd let you know. Goodnight."

"Huh? It's morning."

"Yeah, I know that, but I just figured that you'd go back to sleep since there's no school. It's only six in the morning."

"Now it is," I mutter. I don't really know what I mean by this, and obviously neither does Ricky, because he gives me a confused look. He runs his fingers through his perfect, dark auburn hair.

_Hey, there's nothing wrong with me thinking he has perfect hair,_ I think.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asks.

"I really don't know," I say honestly. He nods and turns around to walk out the door, but I quickly speak up. "Hey, Ricky, do you want to go somewhere or something?" Yeah, so I don't know where this came from, but for some odd reason, I didn't really want him to leave.

My parents took Robbie and left early this morning and are staying over Mimzy's for the day, so it's just Ashley and me here alone.

And I already saw Ricky and I in bed together in the future, so obviously we are going to get together some time. Which completely surprises me, but oh well. I might as well not avoid him. That won't make things any better.

"Where?" he asks patiently.

"I don't know. Out. Somewhere. Do you want to just go walk around?"_ Even though there's a storm. _I internally roll my eyes at myself for forgetting about the downpour and thunder outside.

"Uh," he looks out the window, "okay, sure," and he doesn't say anything about the storm. _Hm, weird._ I get out of bed and notice that I'm only wearing a T shirt and shorts. I don't really like Ricky seeing me in shorts. He doesn't say anything about it, but he glances down at me and smirks, and then he notices me giving him a _look_ and he's serious again.

"Meet me outside," I tell him quickly.

He nods and walks out of the room. I shut the door and quickly change into a purple V neck, plaid shirt and dark blue jeans. I traipse into the living room and see Ashley sitting there on the couch. I stop silently and wonder why she's sitting there alone in the dark.

"Ashley?" I say. "What's wrong?"

She looks behind the couch at me and shakes her head. "Nothing's wrong. What's up with you?"

"Um, nothing. Actually, I was just wondering if you could watch John for me tonight. He's sleeping, so there really shouldn't be any problem. I'm just going.. walking. Is that okay? You don't mind being here alone, do you?"

"No," she says simply. "I don't mind being here alone." Her voice sounds so low, it's almost like she's depressed about something. I narrow my eyes, and shoot her a look that says _what's going on?_, but she just gives me a tiny wave. "I'm fine. Just go." I start walking toward the door, but she calls to me, "Oh, hey, we don't have school today."

I roll my eyes at her and laugh. "I know, Ashley. Ricky just told me." I find a jacket on the coat rack and quickly throw it on. I pull up the hood and then say to Ashley before heading out the door, "See ya," and then I close the door to face the presence of the storm.

I see Ricky standing indifferently on the porch. He's not wearing a jacket, only jeans and a T shirt. I start to offer him a jacket, but I change my mind and don't say anything.

We walk in silence past the woods and to another neighborhood and walk down a concrete path, which is surrounding by trees and the road. We slowly walk side by side, a few feet apart. It is still raining just as hard, but it isn't lightning anymore.

"So, why did you want to go walking?" Ricky has to yell for me to hear.

I shrug my shoulders. "I don't know." I debate whether or not I should go ahead and tell him. Since he already finds out, maybe it isn't supposed to be my obligation. I swallow hard. _Oh, well._ "Ricky, would you believe me if I told you something?"

He looks at me, and we both walk even slower than we were before. "Yeah," he says curiously but almost completely nonchalant. "What?"

I take a huge breath. "Let me rephrase that. Would you believe me if I _showed_ you something?"

He raises his eyebrow, and I worry that he's getting the wrong idea. _This has to happen some time, might as well be now,_ I think. Ricky follows me as I push through a bush, which leads to a huge grassy and open field that is surrounded with trees and shrubs.

We stand in the middle of the field. He waits for me to do or say something, looking confused, but I'm quiet for a minute. What am I going to say to him? I think carefully about how I'm going to _show_ him. He's going to have to yell at me or scare me or-

And then I think of something. It's the only thing that I think might work.

"Ricky, I want you to kiss me," I say firmly.

He looks surprised and half smiles. He steps closer to me, and before he gets any closer, I say, "Don't close your eyes. Watch carefully." Completely baffled, he nods and leans in to kiss me. But the kiss is too soft.

I pull away. _I'm going to regret this. _"_Make out _with me."

He does as I tell him; I kiss him back, and I'm gone.

__

_Sunday, September 24, 2017_

I'm sitting on a brown leather couch in a living room in a hotel. Ahead of me there are huge, open windows. There's a kitchen in the corner of the room, and narrow stairs. Ricky is lying beside me. He leans up, like he wasn't even asleep, and stares at me. He smiles at me, and I automatically smile back.

"You look so young," he says. He sits up completely and runs his fingers through my hair and gently across my face. I shudder nervously.

"What is the date?" I ask.

He runs his hand all the way down my body until he gets to my hand. He caresses it carefully and calmly answers, "It's Sunday, September 24, 2017."

So, he's about twenty five. This is one year before when I last traveled this far into the future. He, of course, won't know anything about it since it hasn't happened yet for him. I have to make sure to stay long enough so I can get answers.

"When are you coming from?" he asks, moving his hand down to my leg. _Huh?_ I'm wearing different clothes. I'm wearing extremely short shorts and only a black bra. I blush. How did I change clothes? Maybe I'm wearing this with him in the future, and for some reason I changed into this.

"2010," I answer him. I quickly change the subject. "How do you know when I travel to you?"

"You look different. And sometimes I see you leave." He moves his hand off of me. "I just can't believe you're so young. I'm sorry, I guess I shouldn't be touching you. You're only," he pauses and thinks for a second, "..sixteen?"

"Yes," I say, "Why am I wearing _this_?" I make a gesture to my clothes.

He shrugs. "Hm, I don't know. But you can change if it makes you uncomfortable." I flinch at how calm he's acting.

"I mean, why was I wearing this when I was with you . . . in my future?" Now I'm confusing myself. I see Ricky still staring at me. I fold my knees and curl up to pull my knees into my chest so I can hide the bra.

He smiles. "Don't worry about it. You look fine." He hesitates and starts to put his hand on my leg, but then he just holds my hand, like he's trying to be careful with me.

I sigh. This is getting me no where, but I don't pull my hand away. _What should I ask him?_ "I need you to tell me _everything_, Ricky."

He's quiet for a second. "What exactly do you want me to tell you?" I notice that there's only one huge blanket covering us, and Ricky's only half covered. But his shirt is off. I shudder, hoping that he's wearing pants.

"Please tell me you aren't . . . _naked_," I whisper.

He looks away. "Uh, sorry."

Sweat starts to build up on my forehead, but I try to keep my heart calm. I need to stay here as long as I can. "Ricky, what were we doing before I left? Did you see me? Or did you just wake up and see that I'm younger?"

"I saw you leave last night." He pauses. "After we-" Another pause. "Um . ."

_Oh, jeez. _I hold up my hand to cut him off, already knowing what he's trying to say. I try to look unfazed by this. "Okay, well, you haven't lived this yet, but in a year your time you said, _You just haven't lived this yet, but I have. _We _have. We started at different times, so everything's all over the place._" I remember it word for word. "What did you mean when you said we started at different times? You told me you don't time travel, too, but I don't understand what you meant by that."

"I don't," he says, "but you figure out how to take me with you."

I nod, listening to what he says, then I continue questioning him. "And what did you mean when you said _we_? I know you weren't talking about me. You were talking about yourself and someone else. Who?"

He sighs. "I don't really want to tell you about your future."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. . . Because I love you, and it isn't good to know things ahead of time. They might change if you know," he says. "If you know, right now, you might want to change it, so you do things differently. I don't want anything to change. I won't tell you."

"Ricky, I won't let anything happen differently. I don't want them to, either. I want to go on with my life exactly how it's supposed to be. I don't want to mess up what's already going to happen. But I just need to-" I say all in a rush, and then I stop.

I realize what he just said, and I narrow my eyes. "You love me?"

He stares at me compassionately, like he is actually inlove with me. "Yes."

I'm quiet for a moment. I don't know what to say to that. But I just change the subject and continue questioning him. "Where is John?" I don't know how this is going to help me find anything out, but it's worth a try.

He doesn't hesitate. "At home with the house keeper and babysitter."

_We have a house keeper?_ This must mean that we live together. "Okay, so he's at home," I mutter. I groan, frustrated that this is getting me nowhere. "Come on. Please just tell me. I really need to know."

He smirks. "You're the time traveler, Amy. You should already know everything."

I grimace. "Well, it's kind of hard, because whenever I go to the future, you won't tell me anything."

He says nothing.

I shiver from the coldness in the room, and Ricky moves closer to me and wraps his arm around me. I take deep breaths to remain calm. "This person you won't tell me about.. does he/she time travel?"

He considers telling me. "Yes, but she's different than you. She can control it." He rubs my back over the blanket. I feel his legs brush against mine, and then I feel his cold hand around my waist.

I smile shyly and try to ignore how intimately close he is to me. "So it's a she?"

The scene replays in my mind of the girl I saw come into that room a year from now. Could that be who he was talking about? Then it all starts to make sense. I forget that I'm only in a bra and shorts and that Ricky is sitting next to me completely naked, and I whisper, "Is she our daughter?"

He intertwines his fingers with mine. "Yes."

I feel my heart stop. My breathing becomes labored, and I feel myself hyperventilate. I still don't have all the answers I want. I grab onto Ricky and say, "Don't let me go. I- I have so much to ask you." More tears escape from my eyes.

"_Shh_," he soothes me. "Just breathe. You're not going anywhere." He rubs his hand over my hair, and then I feel his other hand on my thigh. He kisses me softly, and I feel so awkward. I push him away.

"I am if you do that," I say. "Ricky, I'm sixteen. You're like twenty five right now."

He smiles and, completely ignoring me, he puts both of his hands low on my waist. It's like he's trying to make me leave. "I'll be waiting for you," and then he kisses me again, only rough this time.

And then I'm gone.

__

Okay, so I hope you liked that chapter.

Tell me what you thought of it. Please review, even if you didn't like it.

I'll update soon, and here's a **sneak peak **for the next chapter! :D

_"Did you see what happened to me?" I ask tentatively with a nervous, shaky voice, my heart pounding inside of me._

_"Yes, but I'm not sure what I saw," he answers._

_I swallow hard. "What do you think you saw?"_

_He thinks for a moment. "I don't know. All I know is you were there, and then you started disappearing, and you were gone. What happened?"_

_"Will you believe me?"_

_He nods._

_"Time Travel."_

____


	3. Chapter 3

_Friday, April 1, 2010 (Present)_

I appear behind my house, and I'm standing beside the fence. It's dark, and I wonder how much time has passed. The moon is out full and bright in the sky. Beside the glass door, Ricky is sitting on the concrete.

He's staring down at the ground, and I feel the cold, breezy wind sweep my hair into the air as I walk to him. He looks up at me, his eyes meet mine, and he has a blank look on his face.

I hold up my hand, but I can do nothing but barely wave. I cross my arms against my chest, and my teeth chatter from the cool night. "H-hi," I stammer, and my voice comes out in only a whisper.

He stands up, and the light from the moon glows on his face while he steps closer to me. The breeze flutters around us, causing my hair to fly. I look down at myself. I'm wearing my jeans, purple shirt, and jacket again. I notice the jacket is only half on, so I pull it over my shoulders and zip it up.

"Hi," he says solemnly. "I've . . been waiting for you to come back."

_He has?_ "H- how long have you been waiting?" I clamp my teeth together, trying not to stutter.

"I don't know. I guess . . . about three hours."

I shiver. I've been gone for three hours? Only an hour seemed to pass in the future. I draw a quick breath_. _"Did you see what happened to me?" I whisper tentatively with a nervous, shaky voice, my heart pounding inside of me.

"Yes," his eyebrows wrinkle together, "but I'm not sure what I saw," he answers.

_This is it._ The moment that obviously starts my future. I swallow hard. "What do you think you saw?"

Ricky looks like he's lost in thought, like me. I look at him again, and he meets my stare and says, "I don't know. All I know is you were there, and then you started disappearing, and you were gone. What happened?"

I take a nervous breath. "Will you believe me?"

He nods.

"Time travel," I whisper.

He doesn't look fazed. "When did this start happening? Why'd you just disappear like that?" He still looks calm.

"It started happening on Halloween, six months ago. And that's just how it happens. I disappear and fade out and end up somewhere else in time." I worry that he doesn't believe me or thinks I'm mentally challenged, but he's listening and looking at me like he believes every word.

"Where have you gone when you . . time travel?"

I think about all the places I've gone. Some things he won't want to know about, like when I saw his dad yelling at him years ago. I was glad I didn't see anything else, and I hope I'll never have to. "Well, usually I end up traveling to you," I say, truthfully. "I don't really know why. But I ask you about how this works and what's going on, and, well, you never tell me."

He nods, like he's waiting for me to continue, so I do. "I've gone to band camp, too," I say quickly, and I instantly regret telling him. "But I haven't seen you. I saw myself, so I told her-" I stop babbling and pause. I don't really think I should tell Ricky about me telling my past self not to let anything change. I understand that we're going to have a future together, but I'm too embarrassed to say anything to him about it in the present.

"Do you believe me?" I ask.

He's completely still, but then he nods slowly. "Yes," he says quietly, "I believe you. I was standing right there when I saw you disappear." I'm stunned. I can't imagine that he just believes me and accepts the strange concept so easily.

"What's wrong?" he asks, evidently noticing the surprise in my face.

"Nothing's wrong," I inform him. Ricky starts to stay something, but I hold my hand up because I see Ashley through the glass door. She slides it open and stares at the two of us, perplexed. I try to appear nonchalant. "Hi, Ashley."

She narrows her eyes. "What are you and Ricky doing out here?"

"Um. . . . talking."

"In the middle of the night in forty degree weather?" She looks suspicious. Neither of us say anything. She shrugs her shoulders and before going back inside, she turns to us. "I just want you to know that I know something is going on. I don't know what, but you're hiding something. And Amy, before you mysteriously run off somewhere again, you might want to think twice about that because Mom and Dad will be home early in the morning."

It sounds fake when I laugh. "Ashley, what are you talking about? I haven't been 'running off' anywhere. I've just been, well, out. . . . . with friends today-"

"You mean the past months you've been out with friends, or so you say, because for months you've been mysteriously leaving, and then you always have some lame excuse whenever you decide to come back."

I sigh. "I don't _decide_ to come back." _If only she knew._

"Whatever. Goodnight, I guess." And she shuts the door. I watch her through the transparent glass until she disappears down the hall, and I turn to Ricky. He raises his eyebrows. "Does she know?"

I shake my head. "No, and she's not going to know," I say firmly. "No one is going to know."

Confusion strikes his face. "But you told me."

I sigh again; I guess I have to tell him. "I told you because I've been to the future and you already knew somehow, so I decided, oh well, I might as well tell you since you're going to find out anyway."

"I'm in your future?" he asks, and I wonder why he's surprised about this. Did he not already know he'd have to be somewhat in my future because of John? Did he think he's just going to leave or I would run off when we get older? "How many times have you seen me? In the future?"

"Um," I consider telling him. "A lot," I admit.

"And where'd you go when we were in that field?"

I hesitate. "2017," I say finally, but not answering the question I knew he was really asking. He didn't ask me _when_, he asked me _where_, but I didn't want to tell him. He stares at me curiously and waits for me to continue. I groan and give in. "I went to a hotel, or maybe it was an apartment, I don't know."

"Why would you go there?"

"I don't know. I can't control when or where I go. It just happens." I remember my future, sitting on the couch with Ricky, and somehow, being with him right now, I couldn't imagine that my future was actually going to happen that way.

"Okay, and what happened? Who was there? Was it just you?"

I stare at him, in disbelief that we're actually going to have another child. He smiles a confused smile, wondering why I'm looking at him like that. I mentally shake myself. I try to take my eyes off of his, but somehow I can't seem to do that. "I was with you."

He half smiles his very egotistic smirk. "You were with me? Wow. What were we doing?"

_Oh, no. _I really didn't want to tell him. I try to say as little as possible, "We were just sitting on the couch talking," but I realize saying _we were sitting on the couch_ was too much. His eyebrows go up again.

"Tell me more," he demands.

"Whatever," I mumble. "We were sitting on the couch with a blanket and talking. Supposedly I was with him- I mean you," I correct myself, "before, in the present in 2017. You were about twenty four or five, and I was still sixteen, of course, so it was kind of weird."

He smiles. "How was it weird?"

"I don't really want to tell you," I say honestly.

"Please?" he begs. He brushes his finger across my cheek and laughs.

I try to imagine myself, twenty four, with his twenty five year old self. What are we like together compared to how we are now? Is it possible that Ricky and I actually live together and get along on a daily basis? "Um, okay. It was weird because we were under the blanket together, and well, you were. . . ."

"I was what?"

I breathe. "You were. . . . naked," I whisper.

He laughs smugly, and I roll my eyes at him. "Sorry," he says, "that's not funny. Just kind of surprising, that's all."

"Surprising is definitely one word I'd use. But a better word would be baffling or perplexing or horrifying-"

"I wouldn't say horrifying," he interrupts me. "The way you're explaining it, it doesn't sound so bad." He pauses, and briefly laughs at my irritated look. "So, is that actually going to happen?" This question takes me by surprise.

"I'm not sure," I say. "I don't think it'll happen exactly like that. I think only some of it might be true, but other things change. I mean, why would it happen exactly like that? What makes me so special, or should I say, unlucky that I have to travel time? I don't think the future is set in stone."

"So, you've seen your future. Let's just say that it is going to happen. Would you change it if you could?"

I think about this. He's staring me down, while I'm nervously looking down at the floor. I look up at him and say, "I don't know. If it's what's supposed to happen, then so be it. I really don't know what to think right now."

He smiles. "Hmm. So, what am I like in 2017?"

I smile back at him, happy about the change of subject. "Well, you look about the same. Your hair's a little longer and darker." I pause, remembering the way he looked. I tell him exactly what's on my mind, not pausing to think through what I'm going to say. "There was something about you, though, that was. . . . _matured. _You weren't the same that you are now. I mean, you still had your egotisticness and the smirk thing going on, but something about you seemed like you'd gone through some kind of change or something. You looked at me like you loved me."

He looks deep in thought for a moment. "Okay," he says slowly, "so, why did you time travel when I kissed you?"

"Well, because sometimes things like that make it happen. I still don't have control over it, because I can just be walking or doing something normal, and then I'll end up somewhere else. Sometimes when I'm scared or nervous or suddenly frightened or something, it happens."

The corner of his mouth turns up, and he stares at me with his curious brown eyes. I don't look at him; I look at the leaves blowing from the wind on the ground. "And kissing me made you nervous?"

I hesitate and can't say anything. All I do is nod.

"How often does it happen?" he inquires.

I shrug my shoulders. "Sometimes it doesn't happen for weeks, but then other times it happens as often as a few times a day."

"How much today?"

"Twice," I say. He nods, and we both stand in silence. I breathe deeply, taking in the cold, windy air. I can feel Ricky's eyes still on me, and I hear him say, "Do you go to the past or future more?"

"The past," I answer. I hope he doesn't ask me where I've been, if I have seen him. Most of the time I just go to random places; I'll end up in a car, on the street somewhere, a house. It scares me, though, because I worry that if I end up on the road, I'll get run over. "But lately I've been going to the future just about as much as the past."

The wind starts blowing harder. My hair blows in my face, and I push it away. "Hey, Ricky, I think I should go inside now. See you later?"

He nods a tiny nod. "Yeah, okay. See ya."

__

_Friday, April 16, 2010 (Present)_

_(6:00 PM)_

I am sitting at the dinner table in our dining room. Mimsy is over for the night, and my mom and dad are in the kitchen preparing dinner and talking with her, and Ashley and I are sitting

next to each other at the table, waiting.

Mimsy is my mother's mother, but she seems to be closer to my dad. My father doesn't see his parents; I haven't ever met them. His mother isn't around anymore, and his dad was never around when he was a kid.

Ashley winks at me, and I give her a confused look. I am sitting at the end of the table in front of the dining room window, and Ashley is sitting to the right of me. Dad is coming towards us now with a huge aluminum tray balanced on one arm, and a plate in the other.

He sets the food down in the center of the table. In the tray there are steaks and hamburger meat, mixed in with a chicken and pasta casserole, and on the plate there are warm bread rolls.

For any normal person having all the meat missed in with the casserole is probably weird, but everyone in my family is a definite carnivore, including me. Dad sits down beside Ashley, and my mom comes in soon after with the plates, silverware, and cups and starts laying them down for everyone.

She sits down across from me, and Mimsy sits to the left of me. Everyone immediately scoops up casserole and meat into their plate. Dad and Mimsy are drinking something alcoholic, while Ashley, Mom, and I are drinking sweet tea. My mom doesn't drink much. I grab a roll and carefully butter it, and the meal begins.

"So, Amy, Ashley, how are your grades? You aren't failing anything, are you?" Mimsy says this while poking at the steak.

"No," Ashley and I both say simultaneously. Ashley seems to be in a non-talkative mood, so I continue for her. "I have A's, C's, and. . . . one D."

Ashley rolls her eyes and smirks. "Wow, just one?" I give her a fake laugh. I am definitely used to her annoying sarcasm; there isn't a single person that's met her that doesn't know about her sarcastic attitude.

"Oh, Ashley, you have no room to talk. Maybe you'd like to tell Mimsy about your grades? Like they're so much better than mine?"

"Amy, Ashley!" my mom says impatiently to get us to stop bickering. My dad is laughing, and Mimsy seems entertained.

"I have A's, _B's_, and _one C_," Ashley says proudly. "I think that beats Amy's grades by a mile."

I sigh. "Well, I've been a little busy if you haven't noticed."

"Oh, please," she grumbles. "We're all busy."

I don't say much after that. I barely listen to the conversation, catching a few things like _"George, have you paid that bill?"_ from my mom and "_John is growing up so fast. Robbie, too" _from Mimsy. My parents are arguing about something, but I don't care to listen.

"So girls, like any cute guys?" Mimsy asks. This makes me listen.

"Maybe," Ashley answers.

Everyone is staring at me, and I just look nervously down at my plate. I barely look up. Mimsy knows about Ben. He dumped me a few months ago, but I don't really like to think about it or talk about it to anyone. "I don't like anyone," I say.

"What a shame," says Mimsy. "But there must be _someone_ you like."

I feel eyes on me again, and I know I must be blushing from embarrassment. I start to feel quivery. Immediately I let my silverware fall to my plate and quickly back up out of the chair. They watch me like they think I'm about to have a seizure.

"I- I need to go," I hear my shaken voice tell them.

"You all right, Ames?" "I didn't mean to embarrass you, honey." Dad and Mimsy say at the same time. I shake my head and try to smile, but I fail. "No, everything is fine. I'm fine, Dad. You didn't embarrass me, Mimsy. I just . . . I have some homework I need to do. 'Night."

I trample out of the room. I know they think something is wrong with me- I would never be saying goodnight at six thirty. I run to the bathroom and lock the door. The room is spinning, and a film of sweat is dripping down my forehead. I fall to my knees, curl up in a ball, and rock myself back and forth.

"Please, please, let me stay here," I whisper. "I'm in the present. I'm in the present. I'm in the present," I chant continuously. Why does this have to happen to me? Why today when my grandmother is here?

I try to keep myself calm and under control, but the room is spinning faster, and it keeps spinning around faster and faster like a roller coaster until everything goes black.

__

_Sunday, November 29, 2015_

I am standing in the middle of a path, and I can't see much. It's dark and pouring rain. I look behind me, and I see a few tables and chairs on the grass behind a building.

"Crap!" I mutter. I turn back around and start to blaze back down the path, but I hear a deep voice calling for me to wait. I freeze. I flip my head around and bump right into Ricky, who pulls me by my waist. Our bodies are only inches apart.

"You're here." His eyes are glistening. "What year are you coming from?"

"2010," I answer quickly. "What's the date?"

"Sunday, November 29, 2015." So he must be around twenty two or twenty three. He pulls me out of the rain, and everything brightens up because of the lights coming through the windows of the building. I squint and realize where we are. We're at a bar.

Ricky pulls us over to a table; he pushes me down, and he sits across from me. I look at the beer bottle in his hand and my mouth drops open. "Ricky, are you drinking?" I look at the sign that's on the back door, and I skim it quickly. It says something about a stripper, but I don't care to read it.

Why would Ricky be at a bar?

He puts down the bottle on the table. "Yeah, so?"

Ricky touches my hand under the table. The table is so small that if we barely move we'd be touching each other. I shake my hand off, and he stares at me carefully, observantly. "What are you doing here? Don't you think you're a little young to be drinking?"

I mentally slap myself. _Stupid, he's not seventeen; he's over twenty!_

"No," he shakes his head. "I'm not drunk or anything- don't worry. You drink, too, ya know?"

"I do?" Darn. Drinking alcohol wasn't exactly my idea of a good time. I don't like knowing that one day I'm going to turn into an alcoholic just like most of the other adults. I sigh. I've just never cared much about it. But seeing Ricky at a bar is definitely weird.

"Yeah, so what's going on in 2010?" He rubs my knee. I feel goosebumps rising on my legs and arms, but I am calm. I look down at myself; I'm wearing the same clothes. I wonder where I currently am right now in this time.

"Um my grandmother was- is staying over the night and we were eating dinner. Um, she was saying stuff and I ran to the bathroom, and well, here I am." He looks at me questionably, like he's waiting for me to continue. "She was just asking me who I like, and I told her no one, she thought I was embarrassed, I told her I wasn't, then I ran to the bathroom, because I felt shaky. . . . and I came here."

He smiles. I feel like I'm missing something that is apparently funny to him. I take his hand off my knee. "How old are you, Ricky? Twenty two? Twenty three?"

"Twenty three. And you are. . . sixteen." He doesn't say it like a question. He pauses, but then smiles at me again. "I like your shirt."

I narrow my eyes and start to say something, but I feel his hand on my leg. I pull it off, again. He sighs and says, "Hey, can I at least have a hug?" He holds open his arms, and I just sit here thinking _maybe he _is_ drunk_. He grabs my arm. "Come sit in my lap, Amy."

_Does he want me to give him a lap dance or something?_ I try to pull my arm away. "No, Ricky, stop. You're drunk."

He groans. "No, I told you I'm fine. I haven't seen you all week. Now let me hug you." I don't say anything; I hold completely still and watch as he leans close to me and wraps his strong arms around me. He pulls away. "What, did you think I was going to attack you or something?" He smirks and leans back in his chair.

"I don't know. Maybe," I admit.

He sighs and mumbles, "I guess we're still pretty pissed at one another in your time, am I right?" I stare at him: his hair is about the same length, only it swoops down a little in the front of his face, and he has small sideburns.

I chuckle to myself, but I don't let him see, and I answer his question. "No, not really. But we're not exactly best friends." Not at all, actually.

"And that's why you have a problem with me touching you." He sighs again. "I'm sorry; I wasn't thinking. I forgot how stubborn you were."

"Are," I correct him, "but I'm not stubborn. And why don't you think I'm stubborn now?"

He considers this and smiles. "Well Amy, sometimes time can change a person." I give him a confused look, and he pats my shoulder gently. "You'll find out soon enough. So, how long do you think you'll be here?"

"Probably not very long. Why?"

"Just wondering. I'll take you to the hotel, and you can get dried off and whatever until you leave again."

"What hotel?" This is really confusing me. "I thought we lived together or something?" I shut up and hope I didn't tell him something that he hasn't lived yet. "I don't think I should go to a hotel alone with you, so I'll stay here. I should be leaving soon anyway."

"_Shit,_" I hear him say under his breath. "I forgot; you're underage. If you get caught here at this bar, you're in trouble. We do live together, but I'm staying at a hotel right now because of my job." I'm confused. He stands up and tugs at my hand. "I'll explain it to you in a minute. Let's just get you out of here."

"Ricky-" I yell, but he pulls me up on my feet and darts through the bushes and down the road. We wait until the street is clear so we can pass, and then he leads me across the street to, obviously, a hotel.

When we are standing outside the door to the room, Ricky takes out a key from his pocket and unlocks the door. The door opens, and there is a hallway and the kitchen is across the room. He walks into the kitchen, drops the keys on the counter, and then, with hesitation, I follow him to the bathroom.

The floor is green and red tile; there's a huge mirror above the white counter sink. He opens up the green closet and throws me a towel. I dry off my hair and clothes, and he takes the towel from me. He walks behind me when we walk out of the room, and I saw him throw the towel on the floor.

"Don't you think you should pick that up?" I say.

He shakes his head while we walk down the hall, heading toward the living room. "Not really. I'll pick it up later. So, you're hungry, right?"

"No," I say. Watching Ricky drink made me lose my appetite, which was strange because I'm always hungry after time traveling. "I'm fine. Now could you start explaining things, please? Like why you're at a hotel? And what job were you talking about? Oh, and why the heck were you at a bar with a freaking stripper?"

He laughs. Instead of walking into the living room, he makes a right turn to the bedroom. I follow him only because I want answers. We walk into a blue bedroom, and he gestures me over to the white bed. "It's over three in the morning, isn't it your _bed time?_" He laughs again.

I narrow my eyes at him and sit up in the center of the bed. I cross my arms. "I don't have a bed time. And right now, I'm in my future. So I'm twenty two."

"Not physically." He smiles.

I roll my eyes. "Whatever. Could you please answer my questions?"

Ricky sighs and walks around to the other side of the bed and sits up across from me, our knees almost touching. I feel awkward. "Alright, alright. What was your first question?" He looks patient, which surprises me.

"Uh," I remember, "why are you at this hotel? You said something about a job, but why do you have to stay here because of your job?"

"I have to stay here for a couple of days because of my job. You're at home waiting for me to come back."

I sigh. "So you decided_ what the heck_? As long as I'm here, I might as well go see a stripper and get drunk?"

"What makes you think I was in there with that stripper? I was outside, remember? I was out there the whole time. And I didn't get drunk." He smiles. "You're jealous. I know it. You _must _like me, right?"

"I am not jealous. I just don't understand."

"Understand what?"

"Well, I mean, in my time, we're not exactly friends yet. We don't really argue anymore, and you know about. . . my problem. Well, it's just weird that the Ricky I used to know would get drunk. The stripper thing seems reasonable, but you tell me you weren't even in there. You just never seemed to care about alcohol before and-" I stop mid sentence when I look at his left hand. There is a ring on it.

I look up at him in shock. "What is that?"

He hides his hand behind his back. "Nothing," he says quickly. I sit up on my knees and grab at his hand, but he fidgets and doesn't let me see it. "It's nothing, Amy," he persists. When I finally grasp his hand, it took me a second to realize I have him pushed down on the bed, and I'm practically on top of him. He sits completely still as I hold his hand and examine the ring.

My breath catches in my throat. I get off of him and sit up. There are a thousand things going through my mind; how could he be married at twenty three years old? He doesn't seem like the kind of guy that would get married.

Could this be possible? I stare at him, bewildered. Is it possible that we could actually be married? Maybe he's married to someone else. That makes more sense. It will never make sense that Ricky could actually love me. "You're married?"

He hesitates, but then he nods. His hand brushes softly down my leg. "Yes. You're my wife."

I gasp silently. I turn my head away from him and stare down at the white bedspread. "I. . . . I don't understand."

"Now what don't you understand?"

I look at him. "How . . . how can this possibly be? When you were twenty, you were still with Adrian."

He looks confused, but still calm. "No, I wasn't. I haven't seen Adrian in years."

"But I was there, remember? You were twenty, and I saw you in your room or her room. You didn't sound like you were actually together, but I asked you if we were together, and you said _it's complicated_." I pause. "Did you just say you haven't seen Adrian in years? What happened?"

He looks amused and brushes my hair back. "You ask a lot of questions." I say nothing. "Adrian and I were not together. I haven't seen nor talked to her in years because we don't live in California anymore."

I sit still in silence, lost in my thoughts. When I finally get the courage to look at him again, I ask, "When do we become friends?"

"Hey," he grins, "we were always friends."

I raise my eyebrows. "Not really." I suddenly notice the room smells like alcohol, and I scoot back a little in the bed. I decide to change the subject. "So, what do I look like when I'm twenty two?"

His face lights up. "I thought you knew." He crawls to the front of the bed and leans over to open a drawer. After fumbling around in the drawer, he pulls out a picture, sits next to me, and, handing me the picture, with a smile, he says, "My wife."

I stare at the picture; my hair is longer, with locks of curls going everywhere. I hand the picture back to him; he puts it on the table, and he smiles at me.

"I look so different," I say.

He's playing with my hair. "I know." And then, taking me by surprise, he kisses me quickly. The room had been spinning for a few minutes now. Although the floor seemed feet away from me, I somehow ended up falling off the bed. And then I disappear.


	4. Chapter 4

_Saturday, December 19, 2014_

I am sitting on the snowy ground. At least a foot of snow covers the entire ground, and behind me there are tall, skinny trees. I'm in front of a red brick house; there are three cars, all of which are packed with snow, in the driveway.

I sit up, dust the snow off of my jeans, and my arms are freezing. These are not the appropriate clothes for this type of weather. I start to turn around, but someone standing inside the window catches my eye. I can only see partially in the window, but the person is waving at me.

Confused, I go to the window and brush off the snow. I chuckle; it's Ricky. I'm definitely getting too used to this. I watch as the door whips open. He steps outside, takes a look at me, and laughs. Ricky looks young, only he's a little taller and his hair is darkened.

"What's the year?" I ask. Still beside the window, I take another glance inside. There's a Christmas tree up, and people are sitting on the couch, watching TV, I think.

"2014." Only four years in the future.

"Hm. Where are we? California never gets this much snow."

"Wisconsin." He tilts his head. "Come inside."

"Okay. . I guess." Well, I'm freezing. I walk inside the door beside Ricky. There's a coat rack to the right of me, and Ricky grabs a white jacket and hands it to me. I put it on. Across the room there is a fireplace, two couches where five people sit, all looking at me, a bunch of picture frames hung on the walls, the Christmas tree, and a kitchen behind the living room.

I wonder where John is, but I decide that he's probably home (wherever that is). There are two girls in the kitchen; they look Ricky's age. Both of them wave at me. I smile. "They don't know, do they?" I whisper to Ricky.

He shakes his head no, which means there will be problems explaining what happened when I disappear. Ricky turns to everyone in the living room. "We'll be right back." He takes my hand and pulls me out the door. He shuts it behind us, and I realize that snow is now falling again, so the ground will be covered with even _more_ snow. It's falling in my hair, but I don't mind.

"You look my age," Ricky says.

"Mmm. Not hardly. I'm sixteen. Are you . . twenty three?"

"Nope, just turned twenty two," he says. I'm not good at figuring up math in my head, especially since I don't actually know Ricky's birthday.

"When's your birthday?"

"September fifth. What's the date where you're coming from?"

"August 10th, 2010."

"Ah, well happy birthday in five days." He grabs my hand, and we both sit down on the snow. I hate the cold, but it really is beautiful here in Wisconsin. I've never been to Wisconsin before; I wonder why he's here.

"So, um, what are you doing in Wisconsin?"

"You and I came here together. Um, these are just a bunch of our friends from college."

"You're still in college?"

"Well, no, I'm not. Actually, I got out of college when I was twenty. I only went for two years. But you're still in college. For only one more month." He pauses. "Oh, and if you're wondering why you aren't here, it's because you went to the store for something. So maybe you'll get to meet your future self later, if you stay long enough."

I grin. "Okay, and I'll pretend not to be freaked out. What did I go to the store for?"

"Beer," he says. I grimace. _Of course._ He looks at me, noticing the look I'm giving him. "What?"

"Nothing, you just drink a lot." My mouth drops open when I see his hand- the ring's already there. I sigh, seeing my breath in the below-freezing air. "Ricky, is it not weird to you that I always just randomly show up to you, even when the present me, which is actually my future, was already there with you?"

He laughs. "Yes, it is weird. But I'm adjusting."

"To what?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "To you. I'm getting used to you disappearing. It doesn't happen so often anymore."

My heart jumps inside of me, leaving me feeling relieved. "It doesn't? Really?"

"Not lately."

I stare down at the ground, lost in thought, when I hear Ricky laugh and throw snow at me. "Hey!" I throw snow back at him, and we both laugh. I take it all out of my hair and place it on the top of his head. He smiles, but he doesn't do anything.

"Are we friends yet in your time?"

I shrug. "We're friends, I guess."

He nods and hesitates a few seconds. "Do you mind if I kiss you?"

This takes me off guard. I look down; his knee is touching mine, and our hands are only a centimeter apart. He's staring into my eyes, and I can't help but stare back. "Um, I guess not." And then his cold lips touch mine, and we kiss for only two seconds, and then he pulls away.

He tastes like alcohol. _Goodness, _he needs to control his drinking. But I don't say anything about it. "So," I say, "what if my older self does get back, and I'm still here? Will I have to go away since your friends don't know about my problem?"

"_Our_ friends," he corrects me. He smirks playfully. "And, I don't know. They've all been drinking a lot. And by the time you bring the beer they'll be so drunk they might not even notice that there's two of you."

"Would _you_ notice?" In other words, I am trying to ask him if he's been drinking a lot. Okay, so I admit, I'm concerned about his health.

Like he understands what I'm asking him, he says, "Yes, I would notice," and then he kisses my hair.

Another thing I have to admit to myself is that it's actually fun going to my future, which is _supposedly_ going to happen. I kind of like this new and changed Ricky. Since Adrian's out of the picture he's a lot different. And I like how he acts around me now; he loves me. Ricky loves me. I just can't get over that.

Ricky Underwood. My husband. The word hits me hard, and it echoes through my mind repeatedly. I'm really anxious to see my future self. I hope that I'll stay for a little while. "Can you do me a favor?"

He looks at me. "Of course."

"Will you make sure that I don't leave anytime soon?"

He smiles. "Yeah. You know, intimacy helps you stay in the present sometimes. Or in your case, the future."

I don't say anything. He chuckles. "I'm just saying. Oh, and also when you're drunk you don't time travel as much."

"Drunk!" I whisper the word harshly. "What the heck? Do I seriously get drunk in the future? Darn it!" He must have a negative affect on me. Ricky obviously thinks this is funny, but for me it isn't at all. "Is there anything I can do that's legal?"

"Hmm." He pretends to think about it. "I don't think so. But really, you don't have to get drunk. You could just drink a little, it might help."

I shrug my shoulders. "Well, I guess. But not very much. At all. Like two sips."

"So you must really want to stay with me for a while, huh?"

"Actually, I want to see myself in the future." He raises his eyebrows. "But, sure, I want to stay with you, too," I admit. I really like being around him now. He's just different. I like it; I like him. "So, what were you doing before I showed up?"

He's playing with snow, building it into a snowball, and then he puts it on my leg. "I was waiting for you to come back while I drank eggnog." His nose wrinkles. "Which is _very_ disgusting, by the way."

"Then why'd you drink it?"

"Well, I don't know. It's _supposedly_ for Christmas. But it was awful."

I hear the door open behind us; we both turn around. A girl, Ricky's age, with curly blonde hair, cow boots, jeans, and a sweater is standing there, with her hands on her hips, and in an Oklahoma accent she says, "Have y'all froze to death out here?"

Ricky grins at me. "No, we're coming." She shuts the door. "You want to go?" Ricky asks. I nod, and we both stand up. I brush off the snow from my clothes and hair so to not mess up the house. When we get to the wooden door of the brick house, I stop. "Who was that?"

"Gretchen," he answers. "She's your best friend."

"My best friend?" Huh. "Okay, well won't they know that I look younger?"

"Nope. No one's noticed yet. And besides, you look pretty much the same right now." He smirks. "Remember, they've been drinking. They won't notice the difference."

He holds open the door; I go in before him, and walk into the loud room where everyone's talking. Two girls, instead of sitting on the couch, they are sitting on the floor beside the television, obviously gawking over some movie. A guy is sitting on the couch, rolling his eyes and complaining about the movie.

And then a guy and girl are in the kitchen, drinking something (probably eggnog), which I'm assuming has alcohol in it. Everyone stares at me. The dark-headed guy in the kitchen stomps over to Ricky and me and says, "Where's the beer?"

"It will be here later," Ricky tells him. He takes me around the waist, and we walk past the couch, where the TV is against the wall. I stare at the movie; two people are kissing. One of the girls with straight red hair sitting on the floor shrieks. "Oh, no, he didn't!"

"Hell yeah he did," The other girl says. She has long, curly dark hair. She's wearing an extremely low cut purple shirt and a slutty leather skirt with matching leather boots. Ricky and I walk into the kitchen with Gretchen and the guy whose name I do not know.

"What's his name?" I whisper to Ricky.

"Eric," Ricky whispers back.

The kitchen, with ceramic tile, is small; it has a really long white counter table in the center of the room with two chairs on each side. On the wall is the black refrigerator and oven and about five stainless steel counters.

Gretchen walks around the long counter and over to me, and she hugs me. I notice how small she is- she's about five feet and four inches and slim, but something about her perky, Oklahoma accent just makes her seem so much younger than she is. She pulls away and grins. "Merry Christmas, Amy!"

I smile shyly. "You too."

I hear footsteps behind me. I turn around and see the two girls walking into the kitchen. The skanky girl walks over to Eric and starts making out with him. I look away. Everyone starts talking, so I mumble to Ricky, "Who are they?"

"Amber's the one with Eric, and the other girl is Haley."

I hear the door open and close behind me. I turn around, and standing there is me, carrying a huge 12-pack of beer. I just stand there like an idiot, staring at myself in the future. And Ricky said I look the same? I don't look anything like her.

She takes one look at me, amazed, and then she disappears, and all that's left is the beer that falls to the floor. Ricky leaves the room, but I don't see where he goes, because Gretchen comes over to me.

"Amy, there's someone you need to meet!" I give her a confused look, but she grabs my hand and pulls me into the living room. "This is Carter!" She introduces me to the blond guy; he's really muscular, probably is or was a football player. "You were gone while he got here, but then you. . ." She pauses and wrinkles her eyebrows. "Hey, you were here! But I thought-"

"No she wasn't, Gretch," Ricky says, smiling, as he walks up behind me. He grabs me around the waist and, obviously, pretending that I'm the twenty one year old Amy who is his wife. "You have obviously been drinking way too much. Amy's been gone this whole time." He winks at me.

She's shaking her head back and forth and starting to walk away, definitely not looking like she drank too much. "I guess I oughta go home before I get to drinkin' more. See ya tomorra, Amy." She hugs me.

"Yeah, see you tomorrow." Or four years.

"I'll drive ya, Gretch!" Carter says. She nods, and they both walk out of the door. A few seconds later, Amber waddles into the room, shaking her hips as she walks. For some reason she reminds me of someone- Adrian. And the more I think about it, the bigger resemblance I see in them.

But someone, Amber seems to be more stuck up than Adrian. She has an evil, smug look on her face, and she looks meanly at me. "Thank God she's gone." She stands behind the house, across from Ricky and I, looking like she thinks she's so perfect.

"What is that supposed to mean?" I say.

She raises an eyebrow at me. "It means that things are about to get a lot more fun now that the _prude_ is gone."

"I don't think anyone is going to have fun as long as you're here," I say harshly. She gives me a cold look, but Ricky pulls me away before she can start anything. Amber stomps out of the room.

"What the heck is her pr-"

"Hey, just ignore her. Everyone else does." He smiles and rubs my back. He walks over to the couch, I trail after him, and we both sit down. I look around the room to make sure we're alone, and then I say bitterly, "That Amber girl reminds me a lot of Adrian."

And as I say this, I realize how my voice sounds. It sounds like I'm jealous of her, but I'm not. Am I? I sigh. This is supposedly my future husband, so I guess I might as well just get used to that. It's just hard for me to believe. This Ricky in my future, I really like him, but the Ricky in my present is just so different. It's like they're two different people.

"Oh, really?" he says. "I thought she was the complete opposite."

I narrow my eyes at him. "How?"

"Well, Amber's really self-conscious. Adrian was never that way; she was so sure that she was better than everyone else."

"Was? What, is she not that way anymore?"

He thinks for a second. "Well, she probably is. But I don't know. I haven't seen here in almost two years."

"Oh," I say. I look away. I want to ask him when they stop "seeing" each other, but I'm not really comfortable with asking him that. Maybe I should just keep quiet about it. It's not really any of my business, and besides, I'll find out soon enough.

"What's wrong?"

I look at him again. He's gotten taller, so I now have to look up. In the present he's only one or two inches taller than me. "Nothing. ." I pause. "I was just wondering. . . When do you and her break up. . completely?"

"Hm. . let me see. ." He considers this. "What month is it? August, right?" I nod. "Pretty soon."

"Okay. But weren't you still with her two years ago?" I can see him hesitate. "Just please tell me."

"Okay. No, we were not together two years ago."

"Oh." He smiles and stands up. "I'll be right back." He goes into the kitchen, and I turn around and stare in front of me at the fireplace. I restlessly tap my foot on the floor and examine my fingernails until Ricky comes back, and he holds out a beer bottle, like he's offering it to me.

"Want some?"

"Um." Do I? I probably should get back to the present soon. Time passes by quicker in the present when I'm in the future. So, if I'm here for only a few minutes, in the present I could have been gone for a half hour. "How long have I been here?"

"About an hour or so. Here." He opens it and hands me the bottle.

"I don't know. What if it kills me?" I'm not really joking, but Ricky must think I am.

He laughs humorously, and I just raise my eyebrows at him. "It won't kill you. I've already seen you in the future, and you're alive. Promise."

I chew my lip and hesitate, but then I take the bottle from him and decide to drink only a sip. It tastes bitter and tangy; it tastes horrible, but I force it down my throat. I give it back to him, and he takes it. "That's disgusting."

He laughs and plops down beside me on the couch. I see a reflection of us in the glass door, which is opened, of the fireplace. Something about the way we look together right now just feels right. I smile to myself.

I continue to watch the reflection; Ricky is drinking the beer, and he obviously doesn't seem to think it's disgusting. I grin. Ricky catches my eye, and he smiles back. I feel a little cold. Ricky holds out his arms, somehow knowing that I'm cold, and I hesitate for a second, but then I lean my head against his shoulder, and he holds me. I don't even care that he smells like alcohol; I just like this feeling. I love this feeling. I love feeling loved.

"Aw! Well, isn't that so cute!" I hear Amber's annoying sarcastic voice, and I flinch. Ricky tells her to go away, but his voice sounds like it's a mile away. I turn to look at him, and I know I'm already starting to disappear. "Bye," I whisper.

He kisses my forehead. I'm gone.

__

_Tuesday, August 10, 2010 (Present)_

I am standing outside, behind the car. My phone is sitting on the ground, and I pick it up and look at the time. It's seven twenty, which means I've been gone for over two hours. My mom comes outside, and she sighs. "Amy, where on Earth have you been?"

"Oh, I guess I just kind of lost track of time." I pretend to laugh. Heaving another sigh, she shuts the front door, hauling Ashley behind her.

"Okay, well, you know we have to be at school in ten minutes to meet your teachers." I sigh. I forgot about that. School starts back at the end of the month, and we have to get our schedules. She and Ashley walk to the car. Ashley gets in the passenger seat, and my mom is watching me. "I'm guessing you don't want to drive, do you?" she asks.

"Uh, no. I- I don't really feel like driving." I haven't driven since this started happening to me. It's too dangerous. If I started time traveling while I'm in the car, people could get killed. I don't want to risk anything.

"You haven't wanted to drive in ten months. Amy, what is wrong with you?" She sounds worried, but I don't say anything. I get in the backseat of the car, and I try to keep my racing heart under control. She starts the car, and then we drive out of the driveway onto the street.

My mom looks back at me for a second. "You're turning seventeen in five days, Amy. What do you want to do?"

I think about this, but nothing comes to mind. "I don't know."

"Aw, come on. Tell me. If you could do anything, anything at all possible for your birthday, what would you want to do?"

I sigh quietly to myself. I already know the answer. "Nothing. I'd just like to stay home." We don't say anything else after that, and I know she has no idea what I really mean. I can never tell her. Things would be so weird between us. But I think about what I said, and I wonder if I really mean it or not. Maybe I like my future better.


	5. Chapter 5

_Wednesday, January 8, 1997_

Today, August fifteenth, I officially turned seventeen years old at three in the morning. I was sitting outside my house before I ended up here. I don't know where I am. It's dark, and I am standing at the top of a hill beside a tall, black fence.

The only lights I see are the colorful, fluorescent lights coming from carnival rides down below the hill. The air is very humid, and I have a feeling that it's about to rain. It's also nearly freezing, and I wish I had a jacket with me.

I don't know why I came here. Today has been going fine, I thought. I didn't do anything for my birthday, but that's what I wanted. I did, however, have several people come by my house. I spent the whole day at home, and now home is the only place I want to be.

I hear a sniffling sound behind me, ten feet away, and I, not thinking of the possible danger, walk directly toward the noise. I realize there is no danger. Sitting on the ground is a little boy, about five years old, with his legs crossed and holding a jacket, which he is not wearing, against his chest.

He looks up at me, looking helpless, with his bright brown eyes twinkling. He appears frightened, but not by me. "Hi," he says, his voice quiet and soft.

I hesitate, but then I am walking and find myself sitting down on the grassy ground beside him. He looks lonely. I am close enough now where I can tell that his hair is a light bronze color; it's medium length and reaches below his ears.

"Hi," I say, my voice shaking. "Um, you didn't see what happened to me just a minute ago, did you?"

"No . . . ," he says with narrowed eyes. I stare at him, and something about him looks so familiar. I decide my imagination is getting the best of me, so I let that drop.

"Okay." My voice is so quiet that I don't think he can even hear me. "What are you doing out here all alone? Why aren't you at the carnival?"

"I was," he says, "but I didn't want to be found, so I ran away and came up here." His eyes suddenly become even more wary, and he looks desperate. "Please," he begs, "_please_, _don't_ tell them where I am!" I realize that he is crying.

I don't know what's wrong, but I don't ask anything, afraid that I might scare him. "I won't," I promise. "But you shouldn't be out here by yourself."

"I'm not by myself. You're here now. You just have to promise that you won't tell anyone what I'm up to, you swear?"

"Yeah, yeah, I sw-" I stop mid-sentence when it all starts to make sense. I realize why the little boy looks so familiar, and I decide that I must be a couple of years into the future. This is John- John a few years older. But why is he so afraid? Did I possibly give him something to be afraid of?

I swallow." Um, can you tell me the date? Or the year?"

His eyes harden, like he thinks I'm accusing him of being a mental patient and not remembering what day it is. I feel a dark laugh almost escape from me, but I bite my lip. "Yeah," he says. "It's, um . . ." He considers. "Well, I don't know exactly, but I think that the year is 1997."

I was only four. I shake my head. "That can't be possible. You don't even exist in 1997."

He obviously thinks _I'm_ the mental patient now. "Say what?"

This must not be who I think it is. "I'm sorry; I thought you were someone else . . ."

He shrugs his shoulders. He slumps back down into the grass again, clutching tightly to his jacket. He half smiles, with tears still in his eyes, and he holds out his hand to me. "Well, that's okay." I take his small hand into mine, and he holds it there. His grin spreads across his face now, and he lightly shakes my hand. "I'm Ricky."

I freeze. My eyes widen, and my hand is suddenly shaky in his, and I know it's not from the cold. I immediately withdraw my hand, and, after getting over my shock, I grab him. "Ricky?!" He flinches as I throw him into my chest and squeeze my arms around him. "Oh my god!"

I hear him laughing a cute, childish laugh. I pull him away to look at his face. He looks confused, but somehow amused. "Ricky, is this seriously you?"

He nods.

"I can't believe it." Does Ricky really meet me for the first time at this young age? I thought he met me at sixteen. How can that be? Seeing his confusion, I explain. "I thought I didn't meet you until I'm fifteen . . . but I guess I was wrong."

His eyes are narrowed, but then his mouth drops open and his eyes widen. ". . . Is it you?"

"What?"

I hold onto him tightly, afraid that he might run away. His eyes wander, and he looks like he's lost in his thoughts. He speaks in a soft voice. "A girl once told me 'some day a girl is going to come to you, and she's going to tell you something, but you have to believe her."

I stare at him. Confused, I pretend to play along. "But I didn't tell you anything. . . ." I hope he doesn't know my secret.

The small child, who is Ricky, continues quoting as if I said nothing. "'Then she will ask you to kiss her. And you will dance.'" He is himself again when he continues. "I never knew what she meant, but I thought that maybe you were who she was talkin' about, but you're not, are you?"

I don't know what to say. I feel like I might be, but I don't want to jinx it. Finally, I shake my head. "No. But who told you that?"

He looks down. "I was just hoping maybe you could help me understand what she was talking about. I don't really know who she is. She just appeared a few months ago and told me a story. I asked her if it was real, and she told me it was, but I don't believe her."

I think for a second if _I_ told him that, but he would recognize me if that were true. "What story?"

"_My_ story, supposedly. She says that it's going to happen to me."

"Oh. Well, I'm sorry . . . but I can't help you." I shiver. I really don't know what to tell him. But I can't help but wonder. "Look, I don't know who told you that, but whoever that girl was that she told you about wasn't me."

I start to change the subject, to ask him if he needs me to take him home, wherever that is, or something, but I vanish and don't get the chance.

_Sunday, August 15, 2010_ (Present)

I keep my eyes closed, hoping that I'm home. I wish that my life didn't have to be so complicated. I want to be normal, but every day, it seems that I keep getting more and more abnormal, and the concept of maybe waking up and this all being a dream doesn't seem likely anymore.

Slowly I open my eyes, and I breathe a sigh of relief to find that I _am_ back at my own house. I imagine myself enjoying the familiarity of my home, or at least feeling happy about it, the way that I should feel. But instead I stand lifeless at my front door, and I don't even bother going inside.

The realization that, it being only minutes until midnight, my birthday is almost over, and I almost wish that maybe I actually did something for my birthday. Something that I would remember forever- something great, even if that means I might have to leave it.

I sink down unto my knees and face the direction of the moon; the moon is full, bright- it looks so big in my perceptive right now. Maybe that's because I haven't seen the moon in so long.

I have my arms wrapped around my knees, rocking myself back and forth, when I hear the door barely shut behind me. I can feel someone standing over me. I turn around, and see John standing there in his blue pajamas. "Hi, mama," he says.

"Hey, John." I can't help but smile, but I know John can see the worry in my eyes. I gently put him in my lap and assure him everything's okay. I also can't help but notice the extreme similarities between John and Ricky.

John reminds me so much of Ricky. I am thinking about Ricky every second of the day now. I've been to my future. I've seen it. And the main person I have seen in my future every time _is_ Ricky. But we aren't close now. We're barely even friends, although I've told him my secret.

I know that he doesn't love me yet, but I'm starting to think that maybe I love him. It's insane and irrational, but that's just what love is.

"When's Daddy coming?" John asks.

I kiss John on the top of his head. I understand what John's asking, but for some reason I hear the question translated as: When is he going to fall in love with you?

After kissing John, I wrap my arms tighter around him.

"I don't know." I just stare at the moon, not caring for once about how much time is passing. I want to sit here forever, waiting, wishing, wondering . . . expecting everything to magically uncoil before my eyes.

But, even for someone as strange as me, reality still exists, and there's no escaping it. I understand that reality is inevitable, but is my future inevitable, too? Doesn't that contradict everything that defines reality?

Most people would say this kind of life doesn't exist, but I know, I'm living it. Sometimes I wish I could make it stop, and be normal. But maybe, just maybe, I've been given this weird ability for a reason. And holding my son right now should convince me that this is true, but I still can't believe it. I can't believe that my future is just going to automatically unravel for me.

Young Ricky's words keep echoing in my head. _A girl once told me 'some day a girl is going to come to you, and she's going to tell you something, but you have to believe her. Then she will ask you to kiss her, and you will dance._

_Who is this girl?_ I ask myself. _Could it be me?_ Whoever told Ricky this mentioned a girl telling him something, and _I_ did tell Ricky something, my secret, and he believes me. Perhaps the girl _is_ me, and I've already started my future simply by allowing him in on my secret.

But why does Ricky act like he could care less about me?

I sigh, suddenly feeling tired, but I don't want to sleep. I have too much on my mind. But I decide that time will pass by quicker when I'm asleep, and right now my dreams are better than reality, and I quickly fall asleep.

When I awake, I see the sun just beginning to rise in the sky, and huge yellow clouds hovering in the pink sky. I have no desire to stand up. But then I notice that John is no longer with me, so, panicking, I jump onto my feet. When I turn around, I flinch.

"Sorry, Ames," my dad says. "I didn't mean to scare you." He pauses and scrutinizes my face. "Is everything okay? You look tense . . . like something's worrying you."

I have no intention to worry him. "No, Dad, everything is fine." He doesn't look convinced. "I'm just . . . tired. I- I didn't mean to fall asleep out here. And then I saw that John wasn't with me anymore, so that's all. I'm okay." I don't wait for his response. I walk past him and start to pull open the door, but then I hear someone else coming up behind me.

It's Ben, holding a brown paper sack and wheeling something behind him. I flash a confused look at my dad, but he just nods and goes inside to leave me alone with my ex-boyfriend, who I thought already moved on, but maybe I'm wrong.

He steps unto the porch and smiles shyly at me, like he's worried I won't approve of him smiling, as if that could be pushing things to far. He drops the handle of the wagon and hands me the sack. "Happy seventeenth birthday, Amy."

_He's a little late. _I fake a smile and take it into my hands. I separate the ends of the bag, and inside I see a single rose and a small black box with the word _Macy's_ printed on the front.

Ben takes a small, nervous step toward me, still leaving a reasonable space between the two of us. "Uh, he says, "I would have wrapped it, but it took me a while to . . . um, throw some money together. Oh, and sorry for being a day late."

I only catch one thing that he said. "You didn't spend too much money on it, did you?" I take out the black box and deliberate opening it.

"Uh, no. It . . . wasn't cheap, but . . ." He changes the subject after fidgeting a lot. He must really be nervous. "Happy birthday. Yesterday, I mean. I hope you had a nice birthday."

"It was okay," I say. "I really didn't want to do anything special."

He looks partially interested in what I'm saying, but I wonder if he's just pretending to care. "Why not?"

"I just didn't want anyone making a big deal about it. Seventeen isn't that great."

"Oh." He picks up the handle of the wagon. I am staring into his eyes, but he only stares at the corner of my face, often looking away. Although he seems frantic, I am not nervous at all. We've been apart for a while. Other things have happened in my life, and impressing him really doesn't appeal to me.

"Well," Ben says, trying to keep up the conversation, "it's one year before graduation. So I'd say that's a plus – getting out of high school and into college to start your life. . . ." He doesn't look at me as he says this.

I stare cold into his eyes, almost offended that he can't seem to look at me. "Ben," I say, my voice flat and demanding. Now he looks at me. He shudders as he looks into my eyes. I sigh. "Damn it, Ben! What is it?"

He takes a loud, shaky breath, and after seeing the look on my face he looks like he needs to defend himself. "It's really . . . cold out here." He hugs his arms across his chest.

It's nearly fifty five degrees. "It _isn't_ cold, Ben." I quickly bite down on my lip when I realize my voice sounds almost flirty. What is wrong with me? I feel my face blush, and I wonder how red my face looks. Maybe I even look really white and pale. But then I feel relieved when I see who is coming around the corner of the house.

It's Ricky. I know that this is not _my_ Ricky, not the Ricky who I know in the future, not the Ricky who loves me. But I feel happy that he has come to rescue me from an awkward moment with Ben. Ricky nonchalantly hops up on the porch. This is bad boy Ricky, who is not the same from my future, but it's still _him_, and I am comforted.

"Hey," he says. He looks at the little box I am holding in my hand, and I quickly stuff it into the sack. Ben looks hurt, and I smile reassuringly at him.

There is an awkward silence outside. I look back and forth between the two of them, and then Ricky finally speaks up since Ben and I have not bothered to do so. "Good mornin'. . ." He smirks, and a piece of his dark brown hair flips over in the front. "Oh, and happy late birthday, Amy."

"Thanks." Why couldn't they both have told me yesterday?

Ben starts to walk past Ricky. "Okay, well, Amy. I think I am gonna go. Happy birthday, again. I really need to get home. I hope we can talk later? Call me or something." He wheels his wagon away but stops when he is at the bottom of the porch steps. "Oh, and there's a card."

Then I watch him until he disappears, and I turn to Ricky. I notice that he is staring at me. "We're the same age now . . . both seventeen. . . . How was your birthday?"

"Eh, it was all right. Kind of boring, but that's how I wanted it." I pause. "What did you do yesterday?" Will he mind telling me?

He looks embarrassed, and I wonder why he could possibly be embarrassed. "Well, I actually sent in a few applications . . . for college. It's a little early. I know it's just the beginning of the school year, but oh well."

"That's great, Ricky!" It really is. "And, no . . . it's not early. I think you can send them in as early as, like, eleventh grade, right?"

He shrugs. "Yeah, I just don't really think I'm _college material_. Maybe I just shouldn't go."

I smile. He does go. "You should definitely go to college, Ricky."

"Yeah, I guess so." He looks at the sack I'm holding. "What's that?"

"Oh . . ." I pause. I hold it out in front of me and take a step closer to him. But then I stump my foot on something and fall over. I try to grab the side of the house, but I can't grip it, and I fall down on the porch. I can feel myself blush again.

"Amy, are you okay?" Ricky says. He takes my hand and pulls me up, and I feel lightheaded when I see my arm and hand. I shut my eyes immediately. Blood is trickling down my arm and gaping on my hand.

"Oh, god. . . Are you okay?" he repeats. I feel my face get hot, and I fall back down on my knees. Blood always makes me feel dizzy. "Of course you aren't okay," I hear him say. "I'm sorry. I should go get your mom."

I open my eyes. "No! I'm fine – really! Don't get my mom. I don't want her to worry. I'm okay."

"No, you aren't. Let me help you." He reaches down and takes my hand again, and I am limp in his arms. He lets me go, and, somehow, I am strong enough to hold myself up. Ricky pulls away from me, and I stare at him curiously. He's taking off his shirt.

I stare at his chest and his perfect arms, but then I realize I'm staring too much, and I look away. He wraps the shirt tightly around my arm. "I'm sorry. . ."

I close my eyes again so I won't be tempted to look at my hand. "It isn't your fault that I'm clumsy."

"I know," I can hear him smiling, "but you didn't used to be so clumsy."

I open my eyes a tiny bit and murmur, "People change," and then I shut them again.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

I nod, but he isn't convinced. "Then why can't you open your eyes?"

I open them. "Because I don't like blood, and I don't want to faint."

He slowly moves the shirt from my arm and puts half of it over my hand. He narrows his eyes. He smirks his crooked smile and looks at me. "If you go into the future, will you stop bleeding?"

"No." Does this not bother him at all? "Ricky, don't you think it's weird?"

"What?"

"Don't you think . . . I'm weird?" I whisper. "The weird time traveling girl? Doesn't it creep you out?"

"Um, yeah," he smirks, "a little bit, sometimes. Sorry."

I shiver. Ricky in the future doesn't think it's weird. "It's okay, you're just being honest."

"Yeah." He continues rubbing the shirt over my arm, and we don't say anything for a moment. He looks under the shirt again; the warm air burns my cuts. "I think it's stopped bleeding. Maybe I should leave. . . ."

"Oh, okay." Why does he want to leave? "If you want."

He purses his lips together and nods. He takes the shirt and throws it across his shoulder and walks down the porch steps. "Um, Ricky," I say, "you can leave that shirt here. . . . I can wash it for you." I don't want him to be mad at me. What did I do wrong?

He turns around. "Nah, it's all right. See you later, Amy."

I watch him walk off completely after turning down the street. "Yeah," I mumble to myself, "see you later, Ricky."


	6. Chapter 6

_Wednesday, October 20, 2010 (Present)_

After the long school day passed, there is a huge traffic jam outside in the parking lot. I haven't even been able to get in my car yet. The cars are all lined up, and I'm waiting impatiently for them to pass, but I can see that that will be a while. The road that intersects the exit to the school has endless cars driving down the street, barely allowing a few feet between each other.

Ashley is standing across the parking lot by Dad's car, waving to me, but I have no way around the cars. Everyone is shouting, and I think I'm getting a headache. I remember that I have pain killers in my locker, so I walk away from the chaos and into the school to pass time. The halls are almost completely empty; only a few people are still inside.

I slowly pass by the hall, looking inside the classrooms on both sides of me. When I pass my English class, I see four people sitting in desks, and I immediately recognize them. Ben, Adrian, Grace, and Jack. Everyone except Adrian looks at me. I look away.

I walk past the classroom to my locker and take out the advil. Ben is smiling and marching toward me. I sigh and decide to take two advil. "Yes, Ben?"

"What are you still doing here?"

I groan. "There's a traffic jam outside. Can I help you?"

"Yes, actually." We meet each others eyes for the first time today. "I wanted to talk to you, if you're staying a little longer."

"Well, let's talk."

He hesitates, takes my arm, and pulls me across the hallway in a corner by the water fountain. Ben takes a deep breath and backs up a step. "Well, I was talking with Adrian, Grace, and Jack just a minute ago. I think . . . I think Adrian and Ricky are back together. Not that they were probably ever apart, but they're making it obvious now, anyway."

My heart skips a beat, but I level my breathing so Ben won't have to see me react. Instead of acting upset, I quickly think of the reasons that I should be furiated with Ben. He said this like he was trying to make me feel bad.

"Why are you telling me this?" My voice cracks.

"I just thought that you should know. . . . You know, if you and Ricky are dating or whatever. Well, he's cheating. Of course," he scoffs.

I swallow the lump in my throat, but I know I've gone too far now. I don't want this to get to me, but it's too late; it already has. I realize that I'm trembling, and my headache just got about ten times worse. "We are _not_ dating. Who told you that?"

"No one told me. It sometimes looks like you are, though."

Ricky and I hardly even talk to each other at school, which is the only time Ben would see us together. "Well, we're not dating." _Yet. _"So, I'll see you around?"

I run down the hall and out the door, hearing it slam shut behind me. I see someone in the corner of my eye, and I don't even have to turn around to know who it is. But for some idiotic reason that is only going to end up hurting me, I do turn around.

I can feel that the tears are not far away. Adrian just came out of the classroom, and now she and Ricky are making out. The tears have already escaped my eyes. I run and try to hide myself when I start to feel a familiar feeling. I don't try to stop it; I'm tired of fighting it, because it's no use. I almost hurl myself into the wall when I vanish into thin air.

* * *

_Tuesday, August 25, 2014_

I'm standing outside an apartment building. The sun is going down; it must be between five and seven in the afternoon. And then I see him. He is standing outside his door, about to go inside.

I run to him. "Ricky!" I yell. The split second that he looks at me for the first time, I hammer myself into his chest and throw my arms around him.

He holds me tight for a second and then pulls away to look at me with confused eyes. "Amy, what are you-" He looks like he's realized something. "Oh, nevermind. You told me about this. I should have been expecting it." He laughs.

"Huh?"

"Nothing. You just look so close to twenty one right now."

"I'm seventeen. What's the date?"

"August twenty fifth, 2014." He studies my face curiously, and I remember that my face must be red from crying."What's wrong?"

I purse my lips and look away. "I was talking to Ben, and he told me that you and . . . Adrian are back together, or still together. Whatever. So I go outside, and I see you through the glass standing in the hallway making out with her." The tears are trickling down my face now. "I didn't think you were broken up with her. I just didn't expect to feel so awful when I actually had to see you with her."

Ricky intertwines his fingers with mine. "I'm so sorry, Amy. I wish you didn't see that. I was so childish. I'm sorry." I can feel something cold that's on his hand. I look down, and sure enough, there's the wedding ring on his finger.

"Come on. Let's go inside," he says. He turns around to unlock the door. It opens up to a carpeted living room with matching brown couches and a big screen TV. A glass coffee table sits between the longest couch and the TV. Pictures are hung up against the white walls, but they don't look like anything Ricky would ever hang up.

"Are you here alone?" I ask.

"Yep," he mumbles. He walks to a room behind the living room, and I hear the sound of a refrigerator being open and closed again. I saunter into the kitchen and look at him holding a beer bottle. "Can I have some?"

He blinks. "What?"

"Okay, nevermind." Maybe it isn't such a good idea, anyway.

"Are you hungry?"

I shake my head. He smirks, but something about it looks off. We walk into the living room with his arm around my waist. He sits down on the couch that is against the wall, across from the television. I settle down beside him and clear my throat. "So, we live in an apartment?"

"No, we don't. I just got out of college . . . so we've been staying here for a while. And this is a hotel." He looks away like there's something he doesn't want to tell me, and I know that he's lying to me. I stare at him for a while, waiting for him to tell me the truth.

He doesn't say anything. "Okay, well I don't know the difference. . . . Ricky, what's really going on?"

"Nothing, nothing." He turns his body around and crosses his legs on the seat so he is facing me. "Don't worry about it. You'll find out soon enough." He sips some of his drink.

"You always say that!" I frown. "But you know. . . you know and you won't tell me. It's not fair." If he _is_ my future, I don't see why he can't tell me.

He smiles. "Amy, it's all there. Right in front of you."

It doesn't seem that way. "Can I ask you something?"

He nods.

I look down. "I know that you were still with _her_," I don't bother saying the name, "in 2012. You told me you weren't, but I know that you were. I showed up in your room, or her room, and you said'I can't keep hanging around here. We both have problems we need to get over, and I'm dealing with mine. I'm not gonna let you cheat with me.' And then I asked you if we were in a relationship, and you told me we weren't. How can we date and then get married in only a year or two?"

He sighs. "I lied to you, Amy. I didn't really want to tell you about the future." I look at him now, curiously waiting for him to continue. "Adrian was very . . . difficult. I explained to her that I was with you, but that didn't seem to stop her. She wouldn't leave me alone. I haven't . . . _been_ with her since we were barely eighteen, if that's what you're worried about."

"So we were together then?"

"Yes. Now does that answer all your questions?"

I'm surprised to find that I'm actually pleased. "No, it doesn't, but that's one of the most important questions. I don't need to know anything else. But-" He gives me an impatient look. "_But_ why did you tell her that you both have problems? Were you not over your _problems_ by then?"

He raises one eyebrow. "_She_ was my problem. I couldn't get her to stay away from me."

I think of one more thing to ask him. The one question that I've been avoiding. My good mood suddenly disappears when I start thinking about what's going on in my present. I frown and mutter, "Why do you act like you don't even care at all about me? Why do you ignore me at school?"

"I told you. Because I was very childish. I'm sorry, Amy." He kisses my hair and chuckles. "I think I've told you too much. That's one of my problems when I'm with you. I always say more than I should."

I nod, and we both sit there in silence for a minute. After a minute of this, I decide that I'm wasting too much time. "So, um . . ." He looks down at me lovingly. "Uh, what do you want to do?"

He narrows his eyes. "I don't know. Was there something specific you were thinking of?"

I hesitate. "Not exactly . . ." My heart is racing. I absentmindedly gaze down at the floor and take a huge breath, then I pick my chin up and kiss him quickly on the lips.

His expression is blank. "What did you do that for?"

My breath catches in my throat, and my eyes are fixed on the dark sky out the window. I have a feeling that I did not plan on experiencing, and that is rejection. The look on Ricky's face, almost harsh, is a very vivid picture in my mind.

A cold hand on my cheek makes me shiver. I jump, because it doesn't feel like Ricky's hand; he's usually warm. He turns my face so that I have to look at him. "I'm sorry," he says. "I just wasn't expecting that."

I don't say anything. He sighs and goes into the kitchen. I hear the refrigerator open again, and he returns soon with another beer in his hand.

"You look stressed," I say.

"Yeah." He plops down on the couch beside me, leans up, and restlessly taps on the coffee table. The room is silent. I lean against the table, too, and wait for him to tell me what's wrong.

"Is it my fault? I mean, did I do something that made you want to be away from me and come to an apartment? Or is it because I'm here now . . . from 2010, and you wish that I'd leave?"

"No," he says immediately. His eyes meet mine now, and I see that he is truly miserable."I don't want you to leave, and I didn't come here to be away from you. You are at home . . . and kind of worried, so-" He stops. "I'm saying too much again."

This doesn't make any sense. "It's okay. I don't even understand any of it." A thought suddenly worries me. "Is something wrong with the baby?" He flashes an astonished look at me. Maybe I should have considered the fact that she might not even exist yet. "Our daughter?"

"No. Nothing is wrong with her." He looks seriously tired. "She's fine. Have you seen her?" He doesn't look like he's really listening for my response. He sips his drink and stares straight ahead at our reflection in the blank TV.

"Yes, I saw her once in 2018. She looked about four or five years old. . . . I was only there for a few seconds after I saw her."

His eyes return to me again. "Is she like you?" His voice is deep and indulgent. It's easy to get lost just listening to him talk.

"What do you mean?" I already know.

"Does she . . ." He trails off.

I remember his exact words when I saw him in 2017 that night in a hotel. "Yes," I say, "but she can control it."

"Thank God," he whispers, mostly to himself.

My head spins around. "Ricky, I don't think I'm going to be here much longer . . ." I'm about to leave.

He kisses me really quick. "Bye, Amy." I disappear.

* * *

_Wednesday, October 20, 2010 (Present)_

(9:50 PM)

I'm in my room beside the window. It's pitch black dark outside, and the house is completely silent. I listlessly walk across the carpet and slide open my white closet door so I can change clothes. I step inside and start to pull some clothes off the hanger when I hear my bedroom door open.

I back out of my closet and see my mom standing there in the doorway. My heart picks up speed as I wonder how long I could have been gone. She looks worried, and her face is red, like she's been crying.

She looks horrified. She walks slowly to me, but stands back a couple of feet. "Amy, where have you been?" Her voice cracks.

"I was. . . ." I'm speechless. I shut my mouth and wait for something to come to me. "I was at school, doing work for extra credit." At least some of that is true. I had been at school before I disappeared.

She steps closer to me, and her forehead creases. "Have you been drinking?"

I gulp. "No. . . ."

"Yeah, right, Amy. You smell like beer. Where in the hell have you been?"

My mom has never spoken to me like that before. Now I know something must be wrong. I hold my breath for a second, and then I exhale loudly. "I wasn't drinking. I was just with someone who was."

I hope she doesn't ask me who, but she doesn't say anything at all. "Mom, what happened?"

She turns around and starts to walk out the door. I follow her, and we both bustle down the hall. She speaks to me as she goes into the kitchen and grabs her purse. "What's happened is Ashley and George have been in a car accident."

Oh my god. "Are they okay?"

"I don't know, Amy. We have to get to the hospital." She writes something down on a piece of paper and stuffs it into her purse.

"Okay, I'll be right there. I just have to get something really quick."

"Well, hurry up." She races out the door, and I wait until it shuts before I run into the bathroom. I look at myself in the mirror and try to breath. I try to calm myself down so we won't have a tragedy on the car ride to the hospital.

I don't feel relaxed at all, but I run and get into the car anyway. My mom drives eighty miles per hour down the street, and I close my eyes, feeling like I'm getting motion sickness. My head is throbbing and spinning, and I can feel pools of sweat on my forehead.

I think I'm dehydrating, or having a heat stroke. The air gets harder to breathe, almost impossible, causing me to hyperventilate.

_Stay in the present,_ I think to myself. _I have to be there for my dad and sister. Stay in the present, _I repeat this over and over in my head. I can't breathe anymore. Maybe I'm getting asthma.

Finally the car pulls to a stop. I open my eyes and realize that I've survived a panic attack. We are parked in the parking lot in the front of the hospital. I see an ambulance where two stretchers have been pulled out, which carry Dad and Ashley.

I hurry over to both of them. They are both conscious. Two guys start to wheel them into the hospital, and I follow quickly behind. I don't know what is going on. I yell, not caring who answers me. "What happened?"

My mom, just walking up behind me, is the one who answers. "I came home from work and got a call that there's been a car crash. Your dad and Ashley were at the school, and I think they must have been waiting for you. There was a bad traffic jam, really bad traffic." _No_. "Five cars collided with one another, and all the cars flipped over." She's crying now.

Angry tears rush down my face. "No! _No_!" I want to break something. I want to time travel. I want to go back and stop it. I beg whatever god might be listening to make me time travel. There has to be a way. There has to be a way I can prevent this from happening.

And the worst part is that it's all my fault. If I hadn't been so slow this morning and gone inside the school like a selfish brat to get stupid pain killers. If I hadn't been so preoccupied with being upset that I found Ricky and Adrian kissing, then I would have been in the car with them. I could have suggested they wait until the traffic died down. I could have stopped it, prevented it from happening.

I will do anything if I can just go back and stop this from happening. I try to think horrible thoughts so I can make myself have a panic attack again, but nothing happens. I just want my dad and sister to be okay. They shouldn't have to die because I was selfish.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: I'm going to stop putting (Present) after the date. It shouldn't really be that hard to keep up with what's the present. I need to do that because soon sometimes this story will go back in time (without Amy time traveling) to explain a certain event that doesn't go along with the story line in order.

The story will also be written in Ricky's point of view in either the next or a few chapters.

And also I need to edit all of my chapters because I found out that they spell "Robbie"'s name like "Robie". I thought that was a weird spelling, but it needs to be correct.

ANOTHER THING, lol. At the beginning I told you all that when Amy time travels sometimes she changes ages. I realized that that doesn't make any sense. I have to change that as well. When she time travels, she always stays the same age- her age in the present. Sorry for the confusion.

* * *

Friday, October 29, 2010

It's two days before Halloween, which will make it exactly a year since I've started time traveling. Something about this should make me happy, because I have a feeling that maybe I'll stop time traveling then, but that would be too simple.

My dad and Ashley came home from the hospital five days ago. Except for Dad's bruises and broken arm and leg and Ashley's fractured arm, they are fine. I've been up in my room basically every minute that they have been home.

The truth is that I just really don't care about dealing with every day life anymore. So maybe I have been moping, but I don't know what else to do. It's late afternoon right now, but I leave my room for the first time this week, and it will probably be dark when I return.

* * *

Saturday, July 27, 1996

I'm outside behind a house, standing beside a glass window. The night is cold, and something about the strange misty fog in the air is eerie. The wind is emitting strange screeching noises, swishing violently against the window.

Curious, I look inside the window. Someone's sitting on the bed of the small bedroom, crying. With my fingernail I tap on the window, and immediately I realize that was a stupid thing to do. I sink down into the grass under the window right before it opens.

"Hello?" a soft voice says.

I wait until I hear the window shut, and I stand up and look inside again. I should leave right now to avoid seeing anything I don't want to see, but I don't.

Then I hear the faint sound of a man's voice coming from outside the bedroom. I pull away from the window and lean against the house. The child says something, and then the man yells, "Shut up!" He cries louder, and I squeeze my eyes shut and put my hands over my ears. No. No. I don't want to hear this.

The crying gets softer, so I peak inside again and see that the man isn't in there anymore. The little boy is sitting on the bed again, tears rushing down his face. I tap on the window again, not even caring that he shouldn't see me right now. But I don't care. I want to make sure he's okay.

Struggling and feeling weak, I try to get the window open myself. I'm crying already, which is one of my weaknesses. Finally, the window cracks open, but I look over to the bed and see Ricky isn't there anymore. I assume that he's hiding from me . . . or his father.

I look around the room to see where he is hiding; he's not under the bed, and I turn to open the closet. I hear a faint crying noise, but it doesn't really sound like Ricky's cries. However, I could be wrong, since it sounds so quiet, like the noise is being muffled somehow.

Empathetic for Ricky, I make my way to the closet, feeling like he must be in there, but I disappear before getting the chance.

* * *

Friday, October 29, 2010

I stand in my driveway, seeing that the sun has already gone down. I walk slowly down the path in the dark, the only sounds I hear being the rocks under my moving feet and the chirping crickets.

I go inside through the front door and see my parents, Ashley, and Ricky standing around in the living room with the two babies on the floor. My parents stare at me as if they're worried I might hurt myself. I ignore them and look solely at Ricky, seeing him now and remembering his desperate face fourteen years ago.

"Ames, where have you been?" Dad asks.

"Around," I answer, dazed.

"Are you okay, Amy?" My mom asks.

"Yes. I think I'm just gonna go lie down or something. I'm tired. Good night."

"Are you not hungry?" she persists.

"I already ate," I lie.

"Of course she's not hungry," Ashley mumbles. I ignore her and go into my room and sit down on my bed. I don't particularly want to go to sleep, so I leave the light on, wrap my knees against my chest and stare emotionlessly down at my hands.

A figure appears at the door, and I look up at Ricky. He's wearing a gray button-up shirt and jeans, his chocolate hair brushing across his face.

"Hi," he says hesitantly. "Uh, can I come in?"

"Yeah. Shut the door." I don't know why I told him that. I guess in case I have to tell him something other people don't know about.

He gives me a look of disbelief but shuts it. "What's the matter?"

I uncoil myself from my knees to realize that I'm bawling. "Look at me. I'm a wreck."

"At least you're showing some emotion now."

Huh? "What do you mean?"

"I mean that this is the first time in about two weeks, maybe even longer, that I've seen you show some emotion. You're not yourself."

"Well, a lot's changing."

"Yeah. Um, I kind of wanted to ask you something."

I wait and he continues. "I got a new apartment the other day. I forgot to tell you. I decided since I'm eighteen that I don't really want to live in the butcher shop's apartment forever. And I was wondering if John can spend the night with me tonight."

"Sure."

"Really?" he asks, surprised.

I narrow my eyes and nod. "Yeah." Then there is a knock at the door. "Come in."

My mom opens the door and doesn't say anything for a second. "Amy, I need you to do me a favor."

I get off my bed, walk past Ricky, and go into the hallway with her. "What?"

"I need you to go to the hospital for me. I left my purse there a few days ago."

"You left your purse there five days ago, and you still haven't got it back?" She nods. I don't know what to say. I don't want to drive. It's too dangerous for everyone else, but I do want to get away from home, so maybe I'll get lucky. "I'll go."

"Thanks, Amy. I would drive to the hospital, but I need to stay here with George and Ashley."

"It's fine. I can drive. Bye, Mom." I say bye like I'm trying to get her to leave, but she simply waves and walks off. I pick up my car keys, which are lying on my computer table, and race down the hallway, remembering something. "Mom, is my SUV still parked in the driveway?" I haven't really noticed.

"Yes, it's still in the driveway." She stops at the end of the hall in the living room and flips around. "You know what I just realized. . . . You haven't driven in about a year. Amy, what is up with you? Seriously? Are you sick or something? Teenagers love to drive. And now that I think about it, you have seemed really tense for about a year. I remember the first day I started noticing you act like . . . almost as if you were hiding something."

"I'm not sick. Nothing's wrong with me. I don't know what you're talking about. I just . . . don't really like driving. Okay?"

"It isn't okay." She scrunches her eyebrows together, apparently remembering my behavior. "Amy, this has been going on for a while. For months I've noticed this. Only you aren't even tense anymore. You're . . . you're lifeless. It's like you don't care about anything anymore. And you've been like this even before Ashley and George got in that car accident. Something's wrong with you."

"No, I said nothing is wrong with me." I avoid eye contact, because I don't want to stutter. That will give it away. I bite my lip and talk through my teeth. "I'm fine. Perfectly fine. Bye, Mom."

"Are you sure everything's okay? Because you know you can tell me anything."

"Yeah, yeah. I know." I just want to drop the subject. "I'll be back soon." My mom goes back into the living room, and Ricky comes out of my room. "I have to go to the hospital. Stay here with John?"

"Yeah, okay. Why are you going to the hospital?"

"My mom wants me to get her purse."

My SUV is sitting in the driveway, as promised, and I hop in it and drive out of our driveway. After several turns and five miles down the street, I park my car and go inside the hospital. It's empty except for a couple of people in the waiting room and one woman at the desk.

I go up to the desk, and she doesn't pay attention, but I clear my throat and say, "My mom left her purse here a few days ago. Is it here?"

She talks in a boring, receptionist-like voice. "Um. Name." She's clicking the mouse on her computer, still not looking at me.

Does she want to know my name or my mom's? "Uh . . . Anne Juergens."

She says nothing, and I wonder if she heard me. After at least a minute of waiting for her response, she rudely looks up at me and points to the seats in the waiting room. "Sit down and we'll be with you in a minute."

Rude. I roll my eyes and sit down beside a girl with curly blonde hair that reaches her shoulders, wearing jeans and a purple button-up shirt.

She's holding a cell phone, staring at it, but doing nothing else. She turns her head and looks at me. Suddenly, her bored expression changes to friendliness, and she grins. "Hi," she says in a country voice.

"Hi," I say. She looks familiar, and I study her carefully, and it immediately comes to me who she is. "I'm Amy."

"Nice to meet you, Amy. I'm Gretchen." I knew it.

"Nice to meet you, too." I want to be nice to her. She's supposedly my best friend in the future, so this must be where our friendship starts.

"What are you doin' here?" she asks. "You don't look sick."

I smile, glad that she doesn't think anything is wrong with me. But then my smile disappears, because I know my mom has a reason for thinking I'm sick. I suppose I should be happy she actually notices a change in my behavior.

"Well, my dad and sister were in a car accident a couple of weeks ago, and my mom left her purse here. So she asked me to come get it."

"Are they okay?"

"Yeah. They are now. They came home five days ago."

"Oh. Well I'm not sick or anything, either. I'm meetin' my mom here because we just came here on vacation from Oklahoma. That's where we live. I'm thinkin' of goin' to college here in California, so we decided to come here for a week and see what it's like."

"Oh. How old are you?"

"I'm seventeen. A junior. You?"

"Same."

"Where are you goin' to college?"

"I don't know. When I was fifteen, I really wanted to go to Juilliard. But then . . ." I hesitate. "But then I had a baby and things changed. I'm thinking maybe I'll go to a community college. I'm not sure, though."

"Oh. You don't look like you've had a baby," she points out.

I don't say anything. "Oh, I'm sorry!" she says. "I didn't mean anything by it."

I didn't think she meant anything. "I know. It's fine."

"What's your baby's name?"

"John."

"I'd like to meet him some time . . ."

"Really?" She smiles and nods. "Sure. You can meet him."

"Today?"

"You have to wait for your mom?"

"I'll call her and tell her I made a friend." She grins.

She dials a number in her phone and holds it up. Almost immediately someone must be on the phone, because she says, "Mama, is it okay if I go over to my new friend Amy's house? . . . Yeah . . . I don't know . . . Yeah, I just met her. . . You do? . . . Oh, I remember now. . . I will . . . Uh huh . . . Uh huh . . .. Thanks!"

She flips her phone shut. "She said yes!"

"Anne?" the grouchy lady calls. I look toward her and go up to the desk.

"Anne is my mom," I say.

"Yeah, we got the purse. Here." She reaches under the counter and hands it to me. Obviously it's been there the whole time. I grimace, wondering why she couldn't have just given it to me ten minutes ago when I asked.

I walk back to Gretchen, and she stands up. "Okay, well I don't know what to do about your car."

"Oh, I don't have a car," she says. "My mom's gonna pick me up from your house later, I think. She says she knows your family."

"Really?"

"Yeah." We get in my SUV, and I drive home, hoping to God that things can go smoothly like they did before when I drove. When I stop in front of my house, I sigh in relief that it's okay. Gretchen and I walk in through my kitchen door.

My mom and dad are still in the kitchen, except, unlike before, Ricky is now in there, too. I briefly wonder where Ashley is, and they all stare at me and the girl standing next to me. ・Um, this is Gretchen. I met her at the hospital."

"Hi, Gretchen," my mom says.

"Hi. Yeah, we made friends at the hospital while we were waitin' for someone to bring her your purse."

"Well, it's nice to meet you," my dad says.

"You, too," she says politely. "Oh, and I'm sorry about your leg." She points to his brace.

I walk into John's room with Gretchen. John is sitting up in his crib, which we just bought him and are considering buying him a bed once he turns two. His room seems very large since it is so empty. All that we have in here is his bed and a dresser for his clothes, and a few of his things are scattered on the floor.

"Hi, John," Gretchen says. She walks to his crib and waves.

I turn my head when I notice Ricky standing in the doorway. He walks in the room and stands a few feet away from me. Gretchen is at my side, and she says, "Hi." Ricky stares at me, curiously, and I narrow my eyes at him.

He nods once. "Hi."

Gretchen leans closer to me and mumbles, "Is he your brother?" Ricky obviously hears, because he smirks and stares at me, wondering what I'm going to say to that.

I shake my head. "Definitely not," I say, loud enough for Ricky to hear me. "Um, this is Ricky. He's . . . John's father."

"Oh. Hi, Ricky," she says again. "Are y'all 'together'?" she asks, making quotation marks in the air.

"No. . . , " I say. But I secretly wish we were.

* * *

Sunday, October 31, 2010

It's Halloween. I'm standing on the porch helping my mom hand out candy to the trick-or-treaters. This is the second year we've had trick-or-treaters, which is odd since we never used to get them.I feel a sense of déjà vu from doing just this last Halloween.

I anxiously hand out the candy to the kids, and then just when I finally think no one else is coming, a long line of at least ten kids is coming this way. A girl in a ghost costume and a boy in a zombie costume step up first. My mom dumps chocolate in their buckets, and they leave.

Next, another little girl with bronze hair steps up, who is not wearing a Halloween costume.

She smiles and says, "He was right," and then she walks off without even taking any candy. My mom and I exchange looks at each other.

The night winds down, and still nothing has changed yet. It's almost official. I'm a freak, probably forever. I wonder if there's anyone else like me in the world, or if I'm even human. Maybe I'm an alien or something.

I sit alone on the swing, tearing up. He sits down beside me, and I wonder how long he's been here. "Are you crying?" he says. I wonder if he truly even cares.

"I guess."

"Why?"

I don't answer him. It takes me a second to see what he's doing. His hand goes to my arm, and he gives me an awkward one-arm hug until I hug him back, then he holds me with both of his arms, obviously as some kind of comforting gesture.

"Ricky?" I say over his shoulder.

He pulls away and we reposition ourselves on the swing, six or so inches apart. "Yeah?"

"You can take John tonight."

"Yeah, if you want me to."

"It's just that I don't feel stable enough right now. That hasn't happened to me today but I feel really weird for some reason."

"Well, why are you crying?"

"It's just that I was hoping maybe I'd be normal today." I figure he knows what I mean. "Since this is when it started exactly one year ago. It's a stupid theory, and I wasn't expecting it to be true."

"Well, the night's not over yet," he reminds me.

"It practically is."

"Is this why you're so out of sorts today?"

"You, and everyone else," I make a sweeping gesture with my arm, "have been noticing it for a while now."

"Yeah, I guess. Is it because of that or because of what happened to your dad and Ashley?"

I think of how to explain it to him. "It's just everything." I lower my voice. "It's like . . . every time I think my life might be meaning something . . . something is always in the way. It's like there's a little ghost watching me. And he says, 'Look, Amy's about to be happy! We can't let that happen!"

He gazes at me. "Everyone's not out to get you, Amy. You have to realize that the only person who can make you truly happy is yourself. You can not be happy until you allow yourself to be."

That's where he's wrong. I can't be happy unless I have him. He's become part of me, but I can't tell him that. "I don't know how to be happy." I pause. "It's just . . . sometimes this is too much."

"What is?"

"My life. I thought when I was fifteen it would change forever. And it did. But now this. . . . It's hard to believe it's true." I meet his eyes. "Tell me I'm not crazy."

"You're not crazy."

"Tell me the truth."

He looks me dead in the eyes. "That is the truth."

And there it is again, that little voice in the back of my head I've been shutting off. It tells me to go ahead and tell Ricky everything, but I know if I do it will only ruin everything. Sometimes I think that it's just fate, and my life is going to naturally fall in its place, but I can't believe that is true.

"Don't tell me what I want to hear, Ricky," I say. "Tell me that I'm insane! Because I probably am."

One side of his lip goes up to a crooked smile. "You're insane."

"I knew it."

"But that's a lie," he says, serious.

"I'd rather be crazy than it be true."

"Is there something else, Amy?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, is there something in the future that is making you so depressed?"

"No. . . It's the present."

"What's wrong with now?"

I sigh. "It just seems like my life has already happened. It seems like everything's already happened, it's already done with, and I can't do anything about it. It's like I'm running but I'm not getting anywhere. You know?" I'm not with you.

"You can make whatever you want of your life."

"And that's just it," I say. "It has already happened, and I don't think I want to change it." I stare into his eyes, hoping that my Ricky will come out. I stare, waiting . . . hoping I'll see a sign of him. Nothing. Nothing.

"It hasn't already happened."

Wrong again. "Somewhere it has."

"And that's what you want. To live your life exactly how you've seen it. Why would you want to do that?"

My mouth drops open a little. "I- well, I think if that's what's supposed to happen then it should just happen."

"If it's supposed to happen, then it will happen. Just be happy, Amy. Everyone wants to see you happy."

"Am I really as bad as everyone's saying?"

"You've barely spoken to anyone all week. And for months you've not cared . . . about anything."

"I don't mean to act like that. I didn't mean to make our family fall apart and for my sister to be mad at me. . ." I trail off, realizing that I said our family, but Ricky doesn't seem to notice.

"You know it isn't your fault what happened to them."

He's probably right. "I guess you're right. If only I had gone out there, though, instead of going inside and making them wait for so long. . . ."

He shakes his head and says serenely, "The only thing that would have happened differently is you would have been in the car crash with them."

My eyes search his to try and find some kind of fakeness in them, but my heart tells me that something inside him cares. He's really not a bad guy. He smiles reassuringly at me, and I return the smile. "I'm gonna have to remember to thank you one day."

"For what?"

"For making me realize that I've been acting like an idiot for the past almost two years, before and after I've had John."

He smirks. "I did that?"

"Yes," I murmur. "I didn't have a reason to act the way I did. I just . . . did. And thank you."

"Well, I didn't know one day was gonna be today. But you're welcome." We're both quiet for a minute, and I just stare down at the concrete, listening to the silence until he breaks it. "You want to go inside? It's cold."

I get up. He's probably going to leave soon. "Yeah. I'll go get John for you." I start to open the door.

"Wait," he says. I stop and can hear him already behind me. "Do you want to come, too?"

I turn around slowly. "To your apartment?"

"Yeah. I mean, if something happens you won't have anything to explain. Oh, and my new apartment has two bedrooms."

I swallow the lump in my throat and nod. "Just let me get m- my jacket. And John." I stumble inside and take John from off the floor. "Mom?" I call.

There is no answer so I assume she's asleep. I guess there's no need to wake her up. I go to my room and get a bag and shove some of John's clothes in there, then before reaching the front door, I take my jacket off the coat rack and put it on.

Ricky is waiting outside. "Don't you need to ask?" he says.

"No one's awake."

"Oh."

I get inside the passenger seat of his car, and we drive down the road. I realize that this is the first time I've been in his car, and hopefully it won't be the last.

For a minute I am happy and excited that maybe he finally cares about me, but realistically that can not be true. He said it himself that just in case something happens I'll be away from anyone who wouldn't know what's going on.

But then for another minute I realize that it really doesn't matter. So for a few seconds I pretend that he cares about me; I pretend that he loves me and he's the Ricky that I've seen in my future. I've seen my future often, not staying very long, but Ricky's usually there.

He is my future. He just doesn't know it yet.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: _This is the chapter where it will start being in Ricky's point of view sometimes.

I'm sorry I'm taking forever to update. I already know what is happening in my story, and how it's going to end, so it shouldn't be taking me so long.

But I won't really have access to a computer after today, so I'm not sure when I'll update next. It could be another week or so, hopefully not anymore then that.

Also, this is going to be a really long story, and right now it's only the beginning, basically. Anyway, let me know what you think!

* * *

Friday, December 31, 2010

_(5:00 p.m.)_

_Amy_

Today is New Year's Eve, and Gretchen and I are in my room, getting ready for a New Year's party. At first I wasn't excited about going since the party is taking place at Ben's house, but I decided to let myself have fun. Grace is the one who came up with the idea of having a party, and she and whoever else asked Ben for permission to have it at his house, and he agreed after asking his dad.

I'm not sure how many people are actually going to be there, but I don't imagine too many people will be there.

Gretchen and her family have temporarily moved to California, still looking into the college she's thinking of going to, but she says she thinks they have to go back to Oklahoma soon. We've been hanging out almost every day for the past two months, and I can honestly say she's the closest friend I have now.

"Hey, Amy?" she says, walking out of my closet and ruffling her dress. The flashy, bright red dress, designed with silver sequins, drapes midway to her knees, hugging her snugly. "Is this appropriate?"

"Yeah. A lot better than what I'm wearing," I say skeptically, gesturing to my silky blue dress. I don't particurally like wearing dresses, but apparently this is what everyone is wearing. Slutty, showy clothes. "You know, maybe we shouldn't have gotten ready so early. The party doesn't even start until another three hours." I sigh. "Now what?"

She sighs with me, thinking. Then she smiles and says, "Shoes!"

* * *

_  
Ricky_

I pull into the driveway of my apartment, just getting home from picking up John at Amy's house. She's letting him stay with me tonight. Actually, she lets him spend the night with me whenever I ask now.

As I get out of the car, my phone goes off. I take it out of my pocket and after saying, "Hold on, John." I flip open the phone without even looking at the caller I.D."Yeah?"

"Hey, Ricky!" a familiar, perky voice exclaims.

"Hey, Grace."

"I was wondering, are you busy today?"

"Not really."

"Great! Well, we're having a New Year's Eve party tonight-- starting at 8 and ending at . . . whenever. It's at Ben's house. He didn't tell me what time everyone has to leave, so I guess it's until twelve, or whatever. You can come, right?"

"I don't know, Grace. I have John with me now."

"Oh. You could bring him."

"Yeah, I don't think so."

"Leave him with at home with Amy's mom?"

"You see, I just picked him up. But maybe."

"Okay, thanks, Ricky! I really hope you come!"

"See ya, Grace." I hang up.

* * *

_  
Amy_

_(7:40 p.m.)_

My nerves already high, I had to lie to my mom and tell her my SUV isn't working. Ricky brought John home two hours ago, where he is with my dad and Ashley, who is not attending the party. I assume that Ricky will be there.

I am still counting on the fact that not many people will show tonight. I've never actually been to a New Year's Eve party, but I do know how they can be. Especially since more than half of the people at the party will be eighteen, as if that should make a difference.

Gretchen and I are silent in the back seat of my mom's car. She's on the phone, arguing with my dad, and we don't dare to intervene. Her yelling at him over the phone doesn't calm my racing heart any. I am still dubious, of course, but Gretchen seems carefree. I sigh out loud. I wish I could be more like that.

My mom makes the turn onto Ben's street at nearly five minutes until eight. We arrive at his house, where I am surprised to see that the street is packed with cars in his driveway and lined up down the road. _Perfect. There's more people here than I thought._ I anxiously hold my breath, not releasing it until she stops at the end of the road.

"Whatever, George," my mom says bitterly into the phone before hanging up. She turns around. "It looks like I'm going to have to let you two off here. You'll be okay?"

"Of course we will, Mom," I say. I open the car door and Gretchen and I walk past the cars to get to Ben's door. There's an immense sign on his front door that says _party_ on it in capital letters. I can hear music coming from inside his house. Absentmindedly, I ring the doorbell.

"I think we can just go in," Gretchen says.

I nod and push open the door, running right into Ben. I peer around him and see that his house is crowded with people. I back up a little and Gretchen locks my arm with hers, like she's holding me back from attacking Ben or something. He stares wide-eyed at me. "Oh, hey, Amy." He looks at Gretchen. "Uh--"

"Gretchen," she says.

"Oh? Hi, Gretchen." He looks at me again. "Amy. Um, come in."

We both step inside the room, the lights dim and the music at a reasonably medium volume. Grace marches up to us and smiles excitedly. "Hey, Amy. Gretchen. I'm so glad you could make it!"

"And we're glad we came," Gretchen says, friendly, and I make a mental note to myself that she's obviously more skilled at how to socialize at parties than I am.

The current techno song goes off and some Colbie Caillat song comes on, and I recall the song, remembering it from two years ago.

Grace returns to Adrian, who is standing in the middle of the crowd, and then they go into the kitchen. I look around the room, seeing some familiar faces, but around half of them are strangers. "There's a lot of people here," Gretchen says.

"Yeah, I know." I sigh. "Too many."

"And out of them I only know like three people!" She laughs. "You, Grace, and Ben . . . Not that I really know Ben." She rambles on and I try to keep up, but then she starts talking about people from her school in Oklahoma and my mind wanders off.

"Hey, Amy," someone says from behind me. Recognizing the voice, I turn around and face Ricky.

"Hi," I say.

Gretchen looks at both of us and winks at me. "I'll be over there," she points to where Grace, Adrian, and a few other people are in the kitchen. I nod and she walks away.

"I didn't really want to come," Ricky says. "Who's that girl you keep hanging out with?"

"Gretchen. Remember? I met her at the hospital a month ago. You were at my house--you met her."

"Yeah, but that seems kind of strange. You just met her at the hospital, and you're friends?"

"Well, people have to meet somewhere," I say lamely. "Her mom knows my family somehow, so she lets Gretchen come over a lot."

_Take time to realize, oh, oh, I'm on your side  
Didn't I, didn't I tell you  
Take time to realize, this all can pass you by  
Didn't I tell you_

_But I can't spell it out for you  
No, it's never gonna be that simple  
No, I can't spell it out for you_

Ricky walks away, so I decide to follow him to the circle of people. He stands in the corner against the wall beside Jack Pappas and some other guy. I awkwardly stand four feet away from him, watching everyone else slow dance to _Realize_. I look around for Ben, and see him at the door, opening it for more guests. I quietly groan to myself. How many people could come? Ben's not that popular.

One of the people who Ben lets inside the door is Jimmy, my ex "boyfriend" for only a few weeks. We dated a few times, but it just didn't last very long. Not that I hadn't been attracted to him.

He catches my eye and smiles at me, and I put my head down. Just when I think he isn't going to talk to me, Ricky says, "Want to dance?"

I look up and hesitate. "I can't really dance," I answer shyly.

"It's not that difficult," he points out.

I nod, saying nothing. He smirks and holds out his hand, and I take it. He takes me to the center of the crowd, and I wonder what brought this on. He smiles his crooked smile again and we dance, although he probably just asked me to make Adrian jealous.

_If you just realized what I just realized  
then we'd be perfect for each other  
then we'd never find another  
Just realized what I just realized  
we'd never have to wonder if  
we missed out on each other now._

_But it's not always the same  
no it's never the same  
if you don't feel it too.  
If you meet me half way  
If you would meet me half way.  
It could be the same for you._

_If you just realize what I just realized  
then we'd be perfect for each other  
then we'd never find another  
Just realize what I just realized  
we'd never have to wonder  
Just realize what I just realized_

_If you just realize what I just realized_

_missed out on each other now  
missed out on each other now_

_Realize, realize  
realize, realize_

The song ends, and a song I don't recognize comes on.

I go to sit down just to watch people dance to the new song that's playing. It's has a fast tempo, but I don't know what it's called. Ricky sits beside me in one of the folding chairs and says, "Ben's looking at you."

_Huh?_ I look around to find Ben staring attentively at me. Adrian is behind me in the kitchen, staring at Ricky. "And Adrian's looking at you."

"Oh, well."

"What?"

"I'm not with her anymore. But you probably knew that, didn't you?"

"I don't know." I swallow. My phone vibrates in my purse. "_Oh_." I unzip my purse and take out my phone. I don't pick it up in time so it stops ringing, and I have a missed call from my dad, but I decide that I'll call him back later.

I notice the question in Ricky's eyes as he stares down at me and my purse. I look at my purse to find what he could possibly be looking at like that, but I can't find anything. I narrow my eyes. "What?"

"Why do you have condoms?"

My heart has an involuntary reaction. "Oh-" I look down. "That. I- I got them a long time ago when I was dating Jimmy."

"Oh," he says, and that's it for conversation between us. Jack sits down in one of the folding chairs beside Ricky and talks to him about Grace, I think.

I stand up and walk into the kitchen behind me. I look at my feet sliding across the tile floors as I walk, and I start to pour some punch when I notice someone suddenly standing a few feet away from me.

"Hey," the guy says, "you're Amy, right?"

I tilt my head up and face him. He has dark brown, almost black hair that reaches the top of his cheek bones and spikes up a little in the back. He looks like the bad boy stereotype; he's muscular and at least four inches taller than me.

He flashes an infamous smirk at me, three of the buttons on his shirt not buttoned and, well, he looks like . . . he could be a freaking underwear model, that's what he looks like. He looks familiar, but I can't remember his name.

I realize I should have already spoken by now. "Uh, yeah. I'm Amy."

"Thought so," he says, his voice deep. "I'm Eric West." _Eric. That's right. He's that bratty Amber girl's boyfriend._

"Oh, hi." I pause. "Do you go to Grant?"

"Um, no. What is that?"

"It's a school. I just didn't know Grace invited anyone outside of our school."

"Yeah, well she did. You know Gretchen McLaughlin, right?"

"Yep."

"She's my friend."

"Oh, you live in Oklahoma?"

"No, I don't. I live in Los Angeles, but she comes here a lot."

"Oh."

"Yep, I live here and in New York City. We move around a bunch because of my dad's job, but as soon as I graduate high school I'm moving away from them."

"How old are you?"

"Eighteen, a senior. And you're Gretchen's age. Seventeen. She told me about you--said you're her best friend."

"Really? I'm her best friend?"

"Obviously," he says bluntly, rolling his eyes. That's when I realize he's kind of a jerk, but something about him is attracting.

"So, you want to hang out some time?" he asks.

"When?"

"Any time."

"Sure."

He takes his phone out of his pocket and hands it to me. "Give me your number, if you want. I'd really like to call you." I punch in my number, thinking about how maybe he's not so much of a jerk, but that's when he says, "So, you've got a kid?" and it ruins everything.

"Yeah. John . . ."

"How old is he?"

"He's one." I give him back his phone.

"When does he turn two?"

"Four months."

"Wow," he says, and I just stare at him. "Oh, I'm not prejudice against teenage parents, really. I was just asking. I heard people talking about it. Not in a bad way. Just talking. So I was wondering."

"Yeah, okay," I say, and decide that Eric and I are going to get along nicely now that he doesn't seem bothered by my being a teenager mother.

_(10:30 p.m.)_

Over the last hour, people have started crowding in by dozens at a time in only a few minute interval. They have the music turned up louder now to where it's blaring. I'm still standing in the kitchen, and Eric and I have been talking for over an hour.

I don't even want to walk into the living room; it's wild in there. People are practically shouting and throwing things. Ben is running around trying to get them to settle down, but no one listens to him.

Some guys who don't go to our school that Grace for some reason invited brought alcohol, and fifty or sixty percent of the people are drinking. I'm not, but Eric's standing beside me drinking gallons. We're not so much talking anymore, because he's talking to guys, or shall I say men, who are drinking with him.

Everyone here seems so much older than me, although they're really not. But I'm not changing who I am because that's what they are all doing.

A guy in the living room throws a vase and I see Ben run to him and say, "Don't throw things!" Then he looks around at the room, the room full of insane eighteen year olds who are getting drunk and jumping and shouting like wild animals.

"I think this is getting out of control!" Ben yells over the screaming teenagers and blaring music.

Gretchen meanders into the kitchen, holding her phone, and she says, upset, "Amy, my mom's making me go home. She found out about the drinks and she's making me leave. Even though I'm not even drinking. Do you need a ride? I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay. I'll find a ride. Get my mom to take me home or something."

"Okay. I'm sorry!"

"It's okay. See you later, Gretchen."

She hugs me and says, "Bye, Amy," and then she leaves.

_(11:40)_

By the time Eric and his friends got so drunk that I didn't even want to be in the same room with them, I walked outside where it's actually calm--except for the fireworks and the music coming from inside.

Ricky and I are standing out here on the patio together talking because he obviously doesn't want to get involved in the party, either.

"Hey, Amy, there's something I meant to tell you," he says.

"What?"

"I saw you a few days ago. You came to my apartment. . . Well, you know what I mean. You were older."

I watch the fireworks explode in the sky around the moon. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah, you just showed up. You don't plan where you go, right? I mean, you have no control over it?"

"That's right. None at all."

"I wonder why you ended up at my apartment, though. Kind of strange."

"I don't know. . . It's like . . . I go wherever there's some kind of sentimental value or something."

"And that's with me?"

It takes me a few seconds to answer. "I don't know," I mumble, hoping he won't say anything else about it.

"Hey, did you hear that Ben and Grace kissed? And might even have done more than that. But I think they just kissed. Grace would never do somethin' so stupid."

It doesn't faze me. "Yeah, Grace would _never_." I laugh.

He smirks. "But you would?"

"I wouldn't."

"But you did . . . There's another rumor that you and Ben hooked up." I meet his gaze. "_Hate sex_. How could you not have heard?"

I scowl. "I haven't really cared to listen for rumors at our school. Did you start it?"

He shakes his head. "All right, then," I say, "because it's not true."

He leans against the balcony beside me. "You and Jimmy didn't-"

"No."

"I saw the condoms in your purse. Why do you have them?"

"I never used them. It was . . . just in case."

He pauses and sighs. "So tell me about the future."

"What do you want to know?"

"I mean, how many times have you actually been there?"

A blue and purple firework darts across the sky. "Um, about four or five times."

"The past?"

"A lot."

"Where do you go?"

"Random places, usually. Sometimes I'll . . . run into someone I know. But it doesn't make a difference, anyway. The past is, well, the past."

"You've seen me?"

"_Uh huh._"

"What am I like to you?"

"You're really . . . _kind_," I say, in lack of a better word.

He smirks. "And . . . how do I feel about you?"

I hesitate, wondering why he's asking so many questions. "You should know better than I should."

"I don't know. I hardly even know myself," he claims, "much less do I know how I could possibly think about someone years from now. It's just, well, you hugged me when you came from the future. I guess a hug is nothing but it was kind of weird coming from you."

"I've hugged you before," I say quietly.

"Yeah, like two times. So, tell me, are you married?"

"I think so . . ."

"To who? Ben?"

"No."

"Jimmy?"

"No."

He stops and obviously doesn't consider it could be himself. "So, I guess you don't know who." The statement is left hanging in the air, but he changes the subject. "What's your New Year's resolution gonna be?"

"Hm, I don't know. I guess I want this year to be full of changes. I want to start over, find some new beginning for myself. And maybe find out who I'm supposed to be . . . What the point in all of this is."

Inside I can hear everyone start to count down the time. "Ten! . . . Nine! . . . Eight! . . . Seven! . . . Six!"

"It's almost time," Ricky says.

"Five! . . . Four! . . . Three! . . . Two! . . . One! Happy New Year!"

Ricky and I turn toward each other and he says, "Change things this year, Amy. It's a new beginning. Maybe there's really no point to anything. Things just happen because that's the way it is. There's no reason."

"I don't believe that, though," I say. "There has to be some reason."

"If there is, I don't know what."

We stare at each other and don't say anything as the fireworks continuously explode in the sky. I think about what's to come in the New Year, and if it'll be anything good. Maybe this will be the year everything will change for me. Maybe this is the year where I'll find out who I am, or what my purpose is.

"Happy New Year, Amy," Ricky mumbles, and he steps closer to me and kisses me as the New Year begins, the year where I find my purpose--although I already know.


	9. Chapter 9

I'm sorry for the incredibly long wait between each chapter. But I've finally gotten my computer back, so the updates should come a lot more quickly. This is not one of my longest chapters–just saying. This chapter is really just like a filler, if you know what I mean, so not too much happens. Except at the end. The next chapter will be working more towards the plot.

I am already close to be finished with the next chapter, so after editing it I can get it posted soon after. So, it'll probably be a few days, unless school slows me down, then it may be as long as two weeks, but hopefully not.

Oh, and if you have any questions about the story, ask them in your review and I'll answer unless it would give away something.

* * *

_Saturday, January 8, 2011_

_Ricky_

"So," the brunette girl says, sitting on my couch beside me. I couldn't even remember her name now.

"You can leave," I say.

She looks at me for a few seconds, as if I had spoke in a foreign language."Oh,"she finally says. I note that she looks embarrassed or ashamed, and she stands up and waves without looking at me. "Okay, well bye. . . ."

She shuts the door and I sigh to myself. I think this may be the first time I've ever felt guilty about having sex.

* * *

_Saturday, January 8, 2011_

_Amy_

Eric had called me this morning and invited me over to hang out, so I agreed. I told my parents where I would be, and then I drove myself to his house. He greeted me as I drove down the driveway. The neighborhood where he lives is in the woods area, and practically all the houses are surrounded with trees and shrubs.

I'm not familiar with this part of the city; it's in the more eastern part of Los Angeles and is the least-populated neighborhood. I can't get over how green this place is--everywhere I look is green.

"Amy?" Eric says.

"Yeah?"

I realize that I've been in a trance-like condition for probably minutes. His voice pulls me out of my thoughts, and I come back to myself and look around the garage. His garage. He's standing over something that has a big, white sheet thrown over it; he was talking to me about cars, and I guess that's why I spaced out.

He grins. "My dad isn't supposed to know about this. So this is our little secret."

"I can deal with that," I say.

And then he pulls off the sheet, revealing a rusty, black motorcycle with the words _Harley Davidson_ printed on the side. There's a chain and a lock around it, and Eric picks up a hammer off the table behind me and breaks the chain.

I stare at the vehicle; it should be no surprise to me that he has a motorcycle. Of course he does. "You have a motorcycle?"

"Yeah," he says without looking at me as he throws down the chain, it falling to the concrete with the sound of clanging metal. "Only my parents got pissed 'cause a few weeks ago I rode down a ditch and fell in the lake, kind of on purpose. It hurt like a freaking bitch, but it was awesome. And now they say I can't ride it. Unfortunately for them, I'm an adult, so hell with them. It's broken, but I'm gonna fix it up."

"You could do that?"

He clears his throat. "Uh, yeah, but I won't now. Too boring for you."

"Oh. It's fine. I don't mind watching."

"Okey dokey," he says, chuckling, and then he begins working on the motorcycle. He works on it for what seems like an eternity, sometimes asking me to hand him certain tools from the table, and each time he would have to give me a description of what it looks like.

We talked the whole time as I watched him fixing the bike with fascination. This time he didn't talk to me about cars and junk; we talked about life and school and people, mainly people. He told me about his school and how his parents had thought of sending him to an all boys school a few years back because he would always intentionally cause trouble.

He told me about his two brothers, Max and Jacob, and I told him about Ashley and Robbie. Then I talked to him about something that really amazed me, how I felt like I could talk to him about it–I told him about John and how it happened at band camp.

He listened to me the whole time, listened without ridicule or judgment. Nothing. He didn't say anything about it, not about how messed up it is to have a baby at fifteen, and he didn't say anything about Ricky deceiving me, either.

He comes back into the garage now with two cokes and throws one to me, and thank God I catch it. We both sit on top of the table in silence for a couple of minutes until he says, "You know that New Year's Eve party?"

"Yeah."

"Were you there when we had that fire?"

I glance at him. "Fire? No."

He laughs as he talks. "Well, it was really late, about two or three in the morning. And we were outside shooting fireworks. Two thirds of us were drunk, and some guy set a firework on fire. Ben was trying to get everyone to leave before his dad got home. And then Ben came outside and saw the fire. It wasn't that big of a deal--just a small fire. But he went berserk! It was so funny. You should have been there."

"Yeah, maybe I would've stayed, but I just don't really like parties. Especially when practically everyone is drunk."

He nods. "Oh, yeah."

I give him a look, and he smiles. "You were one of those drunk kids," I say.

"Oh. I know. It doesn't bother me when I'm drunk, too."

"Ah." I finish my coke, and then I run my fingers through my hair. "I should probably go. It's getting late, and my parents would probably get mad if I don't get home soon. . . ."

He stands up, and it takes me by surprise that he didn't try to stop me from leaving. He holds out his hand and I take it. "I could take you home," he says as he walks me out of the garage, and we walk down the gravel road to get to my SUV.

"It's okay, Eric. I have a car."

He holds open the car door for me, and I get in. He leans inside the window. "Hey, Amy?"

"Yeah?"

"You want to hang out again some time?"

"Yeah, definitely."

"I didn't bore you?"

"No, no. Not at all. How about . . . tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow's great! Early in the morning."

"I'll be here."

"Good. I'm glad."

"I really like it here," I say truthfully. It's really great having a guy as a friend–a guy who I can talk to normally and just hang out with, and I don't have to worry about him wanting anything more from me than just a friend.

"And I like you, Amy."

But of course, I have to be wrong.

I don't say anything about that. I smile. "Bye, Eric."

"Bye, Amy," he says, and I drive off, smiling.

* * *

_Friday, January 14, 2011_

Amy

_(7 p.m.)_

Tonight, Grant high school is sponsoring money for a carnival. It is at the same place where a carnival was held around two years ago–where Ben and I went together, and I got sick on the Carousel right as he was trying to kiss me.

I shiver just thinking about it. _How embarrassing._ Not that it really matters anymore.

There is a full moon tonight, and if I look to the side a little I can see it through my car window. When the view of colorful carnival lights comes into sight, I park my car and get out.

John is in the backseat; I couldn't find anyone to babysit him, so I decided to take him along with me. I take him out of his car seat and hold him on my hip.

I walk through the crowd, the sound of carnival ride music playing. Five out of ten people stare at me with a one year and eight month old baby as I pass them. I am not fazed, because it doesn't bother me anymore.

I get in the line for the Carousel, one of the few rides that John can actually ride. He sits up on the horse with me, and then the ride starts and spins around for at least five minutes, I think.

I just watched the world spinning around when I was on it, just knowing that it would trigger my condition, but it never did. As I shove my way through people, I run right into Ricky. I back up and he says, "Hey."

I smile. "Hi." John's face lights up when he sees Ricky, so I hand John to him, and we wander down the street together. At least a block away there are more rides, but we walk aimlessly, not really trying to get anywhere.

"I can't believe you came here," Ricky says.

"Yeah, I didn't really want to. But something inside me urged me to go." I roll my eyes. "Actually my dad talked me into going. No one would watch John for me, so I took him. Not that I mind."

"I don't know why I came here, either," he says, then he smirks. "Doesn't this remind you of the carnival two years ago?"

"Kind of," I lie. _Kind of_ is an understatement. It reminds me a lot of two years ago. "I didn't know you came last time?"

"Yeah, I did. With Grace. And you came here with Ben, right?"

"Yep. And I got sick on the Carousel."

"A lot's changed since them," he says with hesitation in his voice, as if there is something else he wants to say.

He doesn't say anything, so I let it drop. "Definitely," I agree.

The street breaks, and in the dark alley I see and hear a black cat hiss and disappear into the darkness somewhere. I squint my eyes and think to myself for a second.

Today's not Friday the Thirteenth, I remember. So there's nothing to worry about.

I laugh, a little off and shaken, to myself. _It's just a stupid superstition. The cat isn't going to bring me bad luck._

After reached the end of the street where the rest of the rides are, we stop between the trees and the _Enterprise_, and Ricky still looks at me with hesitation.

We're standing so close to each other that we're almost touching. "Last time," he says, "you were on a date with Ben . . . and I was with Grace. Now . . . why don't we make _this _a date?"

My breath catches in my throat for a few seconds, and then I smile to myself. "Okay, then. It's a date." And although I appear nonchalant on the outside, I'm gleefully jumping up and down on the inside.

"Really?" he asks.

I smile. "Well, yeah. I mean . . . why not?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "What would your parents say if they found out we were on a date?"

"Who's gonna tell them?" I smirk, and we start walking back down the street we came from.

There's a mist in the air that is probably going to turn into fog sooner or later, and it hangs in the air, making all sights and the world seem unreal. Ricky holds my hand as we walk, and I am still not convinced that this is real.

Why would he suddenly want to go on a date with me?

I allow myself to breathe. He _did_ just ask me if we wanted to make this a date; he didn't ask me if I wanted to actually date him. Maybe it's just a one time thing to him. I don't know, but I decide to not believe anything more than that because I don't want to get my hopes up.

We didn't get on anymore rides; we spent the whole time walking across the long street. We walk to the parking lot, and that's when my heart almost bounces out of my chest.

"My car . . . it's gone!" _What the hell?_

Ricky stands next to me beside a black Jeep and a Mercedes. My SUV is supposed to be between those two cars. Ricky looks at me curiously. "Huh?"

"I don't know!"

"We should report it to the police."

"I don't see what good that will do," I grumbled.

"Well, I can take you home," he says, and I nod but don't say anything. We get into his car and I sigh as he backs up out of the parking lot and drives down the road. "This just doesn't make any sense," I say.

"You left your keys in the car?"

_Damn it. _"Yeah," I admit. "I guess I did. I'm an idiot."

We don't say anything else as I watch with contemptment the buildings pass by the window. Ricky pulls onto my street until we reach my house, and I narrow my eyes, utterly confused.

My car is in my driveway, sitting there like no one had ever touched it. Ricky looks at me, and I shrug my shoulders as I get out of his car. The keys are still in my SUV, exactly where I left them on the seat. I take out the keys and lock all the doors, and then, in a daze, I walk to the front door as Ricky takes John out of his car.

He catches up with me and we go inside. No one's in there–it's just my empty living room. I walk across the hall to the kitchen with Ricky following me, and I find Ashley and my dad in there with Robbie. I decide to speak first, before my dad can say anything about why Ricky is here with me. "Dad, did you bring my car home for some reason?"

He glances at Ricky and then me. "No?"

I sigh. "Well, someone did, because I thought someone stole it, but it was in our driveway when I got here."

He looks at Ashley. "Ash?"

"I think you know I didn't take it. I can't even drive," she says.

"What happened, Ames?"

I start to tell him, but then I decide against it. My car is here, so it doesn't really matter. "Nothing."

I wander back down the hall into my room and set my purse down on the counter, and my purse sits down beside the scrapbook that Gretchen and I were looking at yesterday. I look at the scrapbook and remember yesterday when she came over and we looked at a bunch of mine and her pictures.

She showed me pictures of Eric, who she has known for years, and a picture of her friend, Carter. I showed her pictures of my family and me as a little girl and my grandmother.

"Eric has this _group _that he hangs out with. They get together and ride their motorcycles and whatever else, which is a definite risk factor," she had told me as we looked at his picture. "But he doesn't care."

"I kind of like it," I told her. Okay, so that wasn't exactly true. I don't really like motorcycles, as in I don't care for them, but it's kind of cool watching Eric with them.

"Ooh," she said, "Amy's got a crush!"

"Maybe," I said, but now that I think more about that I don't really feel for him like that. Eric's a good friend, and that's all I really want him to be. That's all I wanted him to be when I went to his house the first time, and that's all I want him to be now.

I open up the photo album to the first page, where the little piece of paper is gently tucked under the fold and I read it.

_You were the full moon at midnight, _it says,_ sending the sweetness of light into my cup of tea._

I remember in my head just yesterday when Gretchen found the poem. I like to write poetry when I feel inspired or scared or depressed about something. It's kind of like my way of venting, and this poem I wrote when I was fifteen. And yes, it was directed towards Ben, but the message under it was demonstrating life, really–how life felt like an endless dark night, and then Ben came along and made things a little better.

I tuck the paper back in and set the memory aside. I turn the page, and the picture on the first page is a picture of me and the band three years ago, holding our instruments. I told Gretchen that I play the french horn, and she mentioned that she plays the harmonica. I smile, remembering that I laughed at that.

I look up and shut the photo album when I see Ricky walk through my door.

And then my eye catches a little piece of paper sitting on the dresser, right beside the photo album. Ricky watches me carefully, and I pick up the piece of paper and force my eyes to read over and over again the words that can't make any sense to me.

I look at the shape of the letters, the wrinkling of the paper, and I can't bring myself to understand it. I glance at Ricky, looking for a sign or a clue, but he looks at me inquisitively. _Does he really not know? _I try to come up with some logic that will explain this to me, and although I know, my mind just can't seem to catch on.

"Ricky," I say. "Did you write me this note?"

Still, there is no sign as he shakes his head. There is no signal, nothing that tells me this is from him. "No."

I look over the letters again; it is certainly his handwriting. _Isn't it?_

My eyes scan the bottom of the note, where a name is scribbled, as if it were written in a hurry–his name.

Ricky.

I tighten my jaw and force thoughts to come to my mind; I force movement to come over my body, but I am awestruck, frozen, as I know that this is a sign. The black cat, my car missing and then showing up at my house, and then a note. This is all a sign. And somehow I know that this can't be good.


	10. Chapter 10

_Friday, January 14, 2011_

_Amy_

In shock, I sit on my bed and I read the note quite to my dismay after Ricky has left with John for the night. The words are still not registering in my head, either because I'm in denial or can not feel the actuality of the situation. I take a deep breath to calm myself, and I try once again to read the note.

_Amy, _it says, _I was the one who took your car. Sorry about that. I didn't mean to scare you. I didn't want to bother you so I quickly drove to your house and I'm writing you a note. I need you to call a number. Unfortunately, I can't remember the number. Look up Dr. Emerson. He's a geneticist, our doctor, who you are supposed to meet._

_Convince him to meet you there in Los Angeles. He used to work in California, so he will know how to get there. Go to his doctor's office, there in LA, and meet him there. You will later show up at 7:00, for whatever reason, so make sure you are there before then._

_I sometimes worry that he's insane, but he is our doctor and the only person that's going to believe the story. Meet him in two days before seven._

I drag my thumb down to the bottom of the paper and deliberately scrutinize his signature, which was obviously written in a hurry. _He wrote this_, I keep telling myself. _He brought this here, and he 'stole' my car. He was in my room tonight. Twice._

Heaving a sigh, I let the note fall in feather-like movement to the floor before I plop down in the wooden chair at my computer desk. I finally manage to convince myself that there is nothing I can do about this, because it's bound to happen, anyway. Just like everything else in my life.

Into the search bar I type _Dr. Emerson_. Although my internet is fairly quick, I anxiously drum my fingers on the desk while the computer loads for only a few seconds. The page brings up 17,000,100 results for _Dr. Emerson_. I add geneticist to the end of it, and upon letting it load, I click on the first reliable website.

At the top it says his name with a picture of a man, presumably in his mid-forties, and underneath is an address: 1420 Madison Avenue. New York, New York. After finding the phone number, I punch it into my cell phone and after five rings, a deep voice comes onto the phone. "Hello?" He clears his throat.

I take a deep breath, trying not to let my anxiety get the best of me. My nerves seem to be rocketing tonight, which I decide is normal, taken under consideration that I have to meet a strange man, who I only know I can trust because my future husband went into my room and left me a note telling me to meet him. It sounds ridiculous, right?

"Um, hi," I finally say, allowing a few second interval so I can phrase my words appropriately. "This is Amy. I have a serious problem and I really need help. But I live in Los Angeles--that's the only problem."

"Doesn't matter," he grumbles.

I pause for another moment, not really sure what to say since Ricky didn't tell me. "Uh, okay. Well, I don't really want to tell you about my _disorder_ over the phone. I'm about one hundred percent sure you've never heard of it. I'd need to meet you in person and show you somehow, or you'd never believe me. I just really want someone to help me."

"Well, can you come down here to New York?"

I think about the idea of me somehow coming up with the money and then secretly getting on a plane, but I know that wouldn't be possible. "I don't think so. A lot of questions would come up. Wouldn't be able to answer them."

"What's your name again?"

"Amy. Amy Juergens."

There's a brief pause. "How old are you, Amy?"

"I'm seventeen."

"This started–?"

"When I was sixteen."

He pauses again, and I wonder if he's writing this down. "I can meet you in Los Angeles, I guess. I used to work down there. But I'm going to need some kind of record that shows your medical history."

"I . . . I don't even really have a doctor. I have a pediatrician."

"Anything you have from your pediatrician?"

"I don't think so. I haven't really been there in forever."

He pauses again. "Nothing?"

"Well, I guess I sort of have a doctor. Well, a nurse. When I was pregnant . . ." I trail off. "But I don't even know the number or anything."

"Well, if you can find something, okay. If you can't, that's fine, too. You sound official, Amy. I'll try to meet you in Los Angeles." He tells me the address of his office and for me to meet him there this coming Monday.

"Okay. Bye." I hang up and write down a reminder to myself to meet him there.

* * *

_Monday, January 17, 2011_

_Amy_

To my surprise, the day didn't turn out as bad as I thought it would. I sit on my bed right now, reflecting the events of earlier today. I managed to easily convince my parents that I was going over to Lauren's house, which wasn't hard since my parents didn't watch me as carefully as they had before, and what I told them was a lie, of course, because Lauren and I are barely friends anymore.

I was a little nervous at first, but when I met the guy I realized I was safe, although something about him scared me. Just like Ricky had told me, I went into the office at six o' clock in the evening, and I found him sitting at his desk. Once I told him my condition, he thought I was joking, which was expected.

But then, as promised, a future form of myself showed up from the near future, and Doctor Emerson cursed but then surprised me by treating me like he would any other patient. He calmly asked me questions to understand what was going on with me, but in the end he was just stunned.

He took some of my DNA and said he was going to look for the mutation in my genes. He guessed and said that whatever caused my disorder must have been already forming in my genes for a while, and then something suddenly triggered it.

When I was about to leave, he gave me his cell phone number. At first I didn't understand what Ricky meant in the note, but then I kind of saw how the doctor was _insane. _He started talking about how this could be amazing progress in the world and could be a good change for the future, but I said nothing. I don't want people to know about this.

A knock at the front door brings me back into the present, and I briefly look up from where I'm sitting on the couch in the living room and say, "I'm coming." I'm waiting for my mom to get home; she and my dad have been fighting a lot recently, and I'm waiting for her to return from wherever she is to ask her about Dad.

My dad has left angry two times already this week, and although the fighting has been going on for a while, I'm afraid it's getting worse and he's going to leave us for good.

I open the door and stammer in surprise at whom is there. It's Ben, and he's wearing a sheepish grin, dressed in blue jeans and a loose white collar shirt under his sweater. Once I catch his eye, his grin fades and he keeps a straight face, his eyes widening with surprise, as if he has anything to be surprised about.

I remember how Ben always did that when he was shocked or hesitant about something: His eyes would get wide and fear would practically be radiating from them. I straighten my purple shirt and half smile. "Hey, Ben. What are you doing here?"

"Uh, do you have a minute or two? Could I come in?"

"Yeah, I guess," I say, taking a good look at him. He watches me carefully, and maybe even a little tentatively. Although he and I go to the same school, I feel like I haven't seen him in months. We don't have any classes together, and since we aren't even friends I have no desire to scope the hallway for him.

He looks exactly like I would expect him to look: the same, of course. Maybe, though, he's a little skinnier than he was last time I saw him, if that's even possible. His hair is still short, and he's wearing a sweater that reminds me of Bob Saget. I smile to myself but quickly cover it up when Ben gives me a look. "Um," I say, the smile returning to my face again, "I was just waiting for my mom to get home, but I have a minute, I suppose."

He nods before I turn around. "Where's your dad?" he asks, following behind me. I don't answer immediately because I know he really doesn't care; evidently he only asked just to have something to say.

"That's a good question," I answer, walking around the coffee table and standing up beside the couch for a few seconds. "I don't know where he, Ashley, or my mom is, but my dad hasn't exactly been in the best mood lately." I take a seat on the couch, and Ben sits a good five or six inches from me, as if he's cautioning himself around me.

"Why? Is everything okay?"

I sigh. "He and my mom have just been arguing a lot, which isn't really anything new. They never get along. He just left a few days ago and stayed at a hotel overnight; that's how bad it got. But he did come back, though the fighting hasn't stopped." I pause, not going any further, wondering why I'm even telling him this in the first place. I wrinkle my eyebrows. "Not to be rude, but what did you come over here for?"

"I just haven't seen you in so long, Amy. I just thought maybe I'd come by to see how you and John were, and maybe your parents and Ashley, but seeing as they aren't home–"

I clear my throat to cut him off. "Well, like I said, my mom should be home soon. And my dad will probably be home as well. Who knows? You can stay around if you want to see them . . ." I trailed off. "But somehow I have a feeling you came here to talk to me about something in particular?"

He sighs. "Not really. I mean, not exactly. But did you hear?"

"Did I hear what?"

"You know."

I shake my head, confused. "No, I really don't, Ben."

He turns his head to flash me an incredulous stare, but when I meet his eyes he quickly looks away. I have the strangest urge to slap him from getting so embarrassed around me. "Don't you pay attention to the gossip at school?" he finally asks, looking right past me.

I shake my head and laugh quietly. "No. I've been way to busy to even care about the gossip at school. I really just don't care about it anymore. I've realized that it's all pointless and none of it really matters."

He nods. "That's a good way to look at it, but you really didn't hear?"

I roll my eyes. Didn't he hear me the first time? "No, I haven't heard anything. Is it something about me? If it is, don't tell me, because I don't want to know."

"It isn't about you," he says quickly. " I mean, people have been saying things, as they do with anything, because high school kids do talk, but there aren't any rumors pursue."

I have a flashback of all the times with Ben when I was fifteen and barely sixteen, and I realize that I wouldn't change anything to have him back, especially if this is what he's turned into: a shy, nervous loner who can't stand to look at me. However, I really don't know much about him anymore, so that's just a guess based on his behavior around me.

"What have people been saying about me?" I ask calmly, slightly shifting my body to face Ben, internally laughing at the look on his face. He looks like he wants to shy away or put up a large barrier between us so he won't have to look at me.

"It isn't important what people say," he declares.

"Then why did you bring it up?"

"I was just kind of hoping you didn't find out."

I nod to myself, and though I am a little curious, I don't think I want to know. "Well, don't worry. I didn't."

He stifles a sigh, obviously not happy with where the conversation is going. "Just forget about it. It's nothing. I was just hoping maybe we could catch up. I feel like I haven't spoke with you in so long."

"Yeah, I know," I say, trying to sound friendly, but my voice sounds almost lifeless, and I wonder whether or not Ben can detect it. "I'm sorry."

"Well, what have you been up to?"

"Oh, nothing out-of-the-ordinary for me, Ben," I say. "Going to school, working, taking care of John, and a few things in between then." _A few things such as me somehow unwillingly time traveling._

He nods, but his eyes are full with omission and I can tell that he's not even remotely interested in anything I have to say to him, like he only came over here to ask me something specific. Instead of asking what he really wants, he says, "How is work going? You're still working at the nursery, aren't you?"

"Yeah. It's okay. I mean, it's work, so it's not great. I figure that I might as well be working with something that I like to do, so that's good. Even if I didn't really have much of a choice as to what job I have . . . it all worked out okay."

"You mean . . ." He trailed off expectedly.

I nod. "Yeah, Ben. John."

He turns his head as if that wasn't what he meant, and I can tell what he's thinking, but I don't say anything about it. I figure if he wants to know so badly he can just find the courage to ask me himself. "Still working at the butcher shop?" I urge on the conversation, hoping he'll ask me.

"Yeah. Not sure how long I'm going to keep that up for. It's a good job, but I don't think I'd like to work there forever."

"Well, that's understandable. I don't want to work at the nursery forever, if even more than another year. I hardly get enough money from it."

He meets my eyes, and as if something went off inside him, he finds his courage; I can see it in his eyes. He smiles. "You seem to be managing quite well, Amy."

Not knowing what to say to that, I stare into his eyes, seeing that he's finally got up the courage to look at me for the first time in a while. I was beginning to think he's grown scared of me, but somehow something about him is more assertive, almost, as if he's grown in a way.

I note to myself that it's probably because of Maria, his Italian girlfriend or ex-girlfriend, but I drop the thought immediately because it's none of my concern.

He continues to look at me, and I mumble, "What?"

He shakes his head quickly and cowardly moves back a little. "Nothing. You've just changed a lot, Amy. You look older." He pauses. "I mean that in a good way."

I smile, thinking the same about him–not necessarily in a good way, but not bad, either. The doorbell suddenly rings, and I straighten up and stand in a hurry. I race to the kitchen door, seeing Ricky and John through the glass. I open the door for them and give him a look. "Ben's here, in the living room. I don't really know why?"

He shuts the door behind him and I stare at him as he is turned away from me. He's here, I think to myself. He's here, but is he really the same guy I've seen in the future? I wonder whether Ricky has any feelings for me, because I know I do. Embellish in the moment now because one day you're going to get to forever, I tell myself, and I'm comforted by that.

One day.

As he turns around, he furrows his eyebrows and I take John from him. "I just saw him," Ricky says, purposely avoiding saying Ben's name for whatever reason.

"Really? Where?"

"He came over to my apartment," he explains, "and actually, he asked about you."

I raise my eyebrows, wondering what Ben would possibly say about me. Does he want to get back together with me? Does he want to know if I'm seeing anyone, which is the question I've been seeing in his eyes all night? No, couldn't be. "What'd he ask about me?"

He shakes his head as he speaks. "He basically asked, in some sense, if you had said anything about him recently. I told him you hadn't, and he droned on and on about his past mistakes, but I didn't listen too much. If I did, I'd probably have to hit him." He pauses. "Nothing interesting, really. Although . . . I don't know how he found my new apartment."

"Adrian?"

"No," he says, "Adrian doesn't know."

I hesitate. "Ricky, what's the reason you and Adrian broke up? I don't mean to be inquisitive, but I kind of wonder . . ."

He doesn't pause. "She cheated on me, with Ben. Around the time I started coming over to your house and she suspected I was coming over to see you. When I told her that we were friends, that set her off. Then you spent the night with me. She somehow found out and well, you know Adrian." He shakes his head.

"We didn't even do anything," I insist.

"I know, but it's okay. I don't really care."

I sigh."Well, I better get in there with him before he thinks something's going on."

"Yeah. You want to talk to him alone?"

"Definitely not."

He nods and we make our way down the hall and into the living room. As we walk into the room, Ben turns to look behind the couch and stares at us in disbelief. I look at him innocently, and we both sit down on the couch. Ben moves as far to the left as he can.

"Hey, Ben," Ricky says, flashing a crooked smile.

He nods and says in a low, disapproving voice, "I see how it is. Not that that's any of my business."

"What are you mumbling about?" Ricky interjects.

Offended, Ben gives him a cool glance and claims, "I wasn't mumbling."

Sitting in between the guys, I look over at Ricky where Ben cannot see the look on my face. I wink at him and then look back to the both of them. "Ben, Ricky is my friend. We're all friends here, right?"

"I don't know. Are we? I was kind of under the impression that we weren't."

Hearing two pounds on the door, I look away with a forced smile, ignoring his comment. Leaving Ben and Ricky to talk or argue, whichever, amongst themselves, I saunter into the kitchen to get the door, wondering why no one can use the front door.

* * *

_Ricky_

"I knew you would do that," Ben says once Amy leaves the room to get the door.

Feeling out of place, I stare blankly ahead at the black TV screen, thinking how Ben must feel even more out of place. "I don't know what you're talking about," I mutter back at him.

"As soon as I came over to ask you about Amy, you have to come over here and tell her about it."

"That wasn't my intention, Ben," I say coldly. "I was just bringing her John. She asked me to keep him until later tonight."

"So you just normally come over here this late?"

Yes, I want to say to him. Amy and I spend a lot of time together. Ben continues. "Why couldn't Amy have John over here earlier?"

"I don't know," I say, and it's true. Amy didn't tell me why. "What does it matter to you anyway? You and Amy are over. You haven't been with her in over a year."

Ben starts to say something, but Amy walks back into the room and sits in the chair across from the couch. She crosses her arms, and I want to ask her what's wrong, but my question is already answered when I hear the kitchen door slam shut, followed by Anne and George yelling at each other.

Ben looks at me and I shrug my shoulders, and we all sit awkwardly in silence as Amy's parents quarrel in the kitchen. Suddenly, Ben stands up from the couch. "I should probably go," he says. "I didn't realize this was such a bad time . . ."

"Sorry," Amy says, and I can tell by the way she says it that she really isn't. Ben nods and leaves through the front door, leaving Amy and me here alone. She sighs and says to me, "I'm sorry."

"It's all right."

She shakes her head. "No, it isn't. I think my dad's gonna leave again or something. Or maybe even my mom will leave this time. My dad's left us twice already, and I know he came back, but still . . .

"Why are they fighting?"

She yawns and shrugs her shoulders. "I don't know. You know how they are. They always fight. Even though we're all living together, I really don't see any chance of them ever getting re-married."

"Do you want them to get re-married?"

"I wouldn't mind," she says, "but that's up to them. I'm tired of getting into other people's business. I'm just going to focus on me from now on."

I nod and gingerly watch her, contemplating how I'm going to say this. Amy stares blankly down at the floor, like she might fall asleep.

"I'm sorry," I say sympathetically, not bothering to say 'It'll be okay.' I always hate when people say that, especially when they don't even understand the situation. "But don't you think that after everything you've been through, they won't split up now just because of a fight?"

She forces a smile. "You're probably right." We sit in silence for a moment, only listening to the arguing in the other room.

Suddenly, Anne and George bolt into the living room, bickering about something. Anne looks at Amy and me and turns to go back into the kitchen, but she stops when George walks behind the couch, stopping dead in his tracks to glare at me. "What are you doing here?"

"He's here to see me," Amy answers bluntly.

I give her a look, but she doesn't do anything. George looks from me to Amy and back to me. "What?"

"George, stop!" Anne yells at him.

"I don't know what's going on," he says angrily.

Amy grimaces. "I could say the same thing about you."

George arches his eyebrows and says scornfully, "I'm getting tired of your behavior, Amy." I glance at Amy for half a second and then stare down at the carpet, not wanting to get into this.

From the corner of my eye I see Amy tilt her head up and sneer at her dad. "I'm not doing anything! _I'm_ tired of you and mom always fighting!"

"Ames–"

"No, Dad," she says coldly.

"Would you like to tell me what Ricky is doing here at twelve o' clock?"

"Stop, George," Anne repeats.

I know George well enough to assume that he scowls at Anne now but then looks back at me. "I was beginning to trust you."

"Dad, stop! He didn't do anything," Amy yells, and I want to say something, but I can't make the words come out. Although I've been over here basically every day the last couple of weeks, I hadn't known until now that the fighting in Amy's family is actually this serious.

"Now you're taking up for Ricky?" he snaps at her, stamping down the hall. About ten seconds later the door slams shut, followed by a lot of muttering and yelling. I hear Ashley come out of her room and she yells at something to George, although he's outside and she's inside. As if he answers her, she yells something back again.

"I'm sorry," Anne says to Amy and me. I lean my head up, but only to look at Amy, concerned about the blank look on her face. "He isn't really mad at you–"

Anne stops mid-sentence when the kitchen door opens again, George obviously walking back inside, and he slams it, arguing with Ashley. Anne angrily parades into the kitchen after him, and then the whole house is filled with the loud, bitter fighting and shouting in the kitchen.

As I look at Amy, I know that today I won't have a chance to ask her. She's staring blankly ahead, her eyes dark and her face as white as a sheet.

* * *

_Amy_

My head is spinning, and everything is happening blurrily and dream-like as my parents holler at each other like two people ready to kill each other. I can hear Ashley trying to stop them from fighting, and she cries out loud to my dad, and although I can't understand their words, I know my dad is about to leave us.

The pressure beats in my head, the ticking on the clock above me suddenly sounding a lot more loud and significant. My heart pounds two hundred beats per minute, slamming into my chest and banging in my head.

A cold sweat breaks out onto my forehead, and I see Ricky standing over me, but my body has gone numb. "Are you okay, Amy?" I hear him ask me, but his voice sounds miles away. He grabs my arm and I disappear.

_  
Tuesday, December 17, 1996_

I'm standing on a black, empty street. To the right of me there is a store that looks like a drugstore or gas station, but other than that it's empty and desolate. I run up to the store and crouch down in one of the bushes beside it.

The sky is black, the stars twinkling brightly and the moon above me. It's nearly thirty degrees, but my forehead is sweating, and I have an awful feeling in the pit of my stomach. There is a car parked on the street beside the building, and inside there's a boy and a woman, and recognizing immediately, all I can do is tell myself not to cry.

Is this real? I don't know. Every time it feels as if it's a dream. And every time I have to tell myself that I'll get by, because that's all I can do. The world feels like it's crashing down suddenly, because a series of events occur simultaneously.

I look up at a man standing over me, in his late fifties or early sixties. He's holding a large piece of iron, and although I know at any moment he can crash it down on top of me and I'll be dead, I'm not afraid.

The hobo jingles a container in his other hand that isn't holding the iron, asking for money, but I shake my head. He holds the iron high above his head, and all I can do is stare at it. Then I rise to my feet, not because I know he's about to kill me, but because of what I see in the car and in the store.

The woman in the car just finished yelling at the boy, and he was crying, but then she looked concerned or almost sympathetic and gently said something to him. Now she's walking across the lot to the door in the drugstore. There's a man in there, and he's standing there motionless.

When she walks past me, closer to the store now, I can't clearly make out her figures, because she passes by in a ghost-like form, but all I can see is blackness from where I am. She's close enough that I can tell she has dark hair and isn't wearing that much, but she's so far that the darkness of the night swallows her.

And then the door makes a _ding _noise as she goes in. I wonder why it does that, because I can see that all the lights are turned off, meaning that obviously the store has been closed for a while, which means it's probably at least eleven o' clock.

I quickly flinch back when I realize what she's doing. She's going in there for money, by having sex, because she can't provide for her son any other way. And they're running away, I assume, because of the boy's father. And she took him with her and doesn't have any other way to provide for him.

It comes to me immediately, and I remember how she looked at her son. She was on the verge of tears but she was yelling. She wasn't yelling because she was mean; she was yelling because she was afraid. She didn't only do this because she's messed up; she did it because she had to.

Horrified and distracted, the guy doesn't hit me with the iron because he sees that I'm not even afraid. He just looks at me with the most confused look on his face. I see little Ricky, four or five years old, come out of the car, and he squeezes his eyes shut and folds his arms above his head.

I run off and walk into the middle of the street where the car is parked. Ricky is pacing near it, walking up and down the street. When he hears me approach, he stops about six or seven feet away from me and opens his eyes slowly, and I see that his eyes are blotched red with tears, as if he has been crying for a while.

He still holds his face and he rubs his eyes. I walk only an inch closer, and then I ask carefully, "What's wrong?

He furrows his eyebrows, wondering why I'm talking to him, but then he shrugs it off and decides that he can trust me. His voice is raspy and child-like. "You h-have to help me. I can't feel."

"You can't feel what?" I ask.

"Anything." He holds his face again and marches up and down the street, crying and squeezing his eyes shut. I already know what's happening. I run up to him and crouch down on my knees so I can reach his height.

"Listen to me," I say, gently shaking him. He opens his eyes, and the tears rapidly fall down his cheeks. "You can't stop it. There's nothing you can do. You're going to be fine, though. I can promise you that."

"How do you know?"

"Because. I'm from the future, Ricky. You are going to be okay."

"H-how do you know my name?"

"I told you. I know you in the future."

He doesn't listen to me. He falls to his knees and still cries, and then he disappears, and I disappear only a minute later.

* * *

_Tuesday, January 18, 2011_

_(4 a.m.)_

I appear in my room, and I hurry to my desk and pick up the note to look at it, underlining key words.

Amy, you were asleep so I didn't want to wake you. I won't stay long enough so I've just left you a note. I need you to call a number. I can't remember the number, but look it up. Look up Dr. Emerson. He's a geneticist, our doctor.

Convince him to meet you there in Los Angeles. He used to work in California so he will know how to get there. Go to his doctor's office, here in LA, and meet him there. You will later show up at 7:00.

Ricky said 'there' for Los Angeles, so he must not live here in the future. I, in the future, couldn't have come here and set the note on the table, because he said, "I won't stay here long enough," and, "I didn't want to wake you."

I think about it for a while, and I've come to a conclusion. Ricky started time traveling before me at four years old. Since I'm almost certain he wouldn't lie about it, I figure that he just forgot about it since it was so long ago. He was young and didn't know what was going on.

And for some reason, it happened to me just a year ago.

It happened to him and then me, which still doesn't make any sense to me. But I think about it for a while, considering every possible alternative, but I've finally decided on the only reasonable conclusion: Ricky _is_ the time traveler.

* * *

A/N: I hope you liked it! Sorry if there were any mistakes; I haven't gotten much of a chance to look over it. Also, the ending probably doesn't make sense to you. It's not supposed to. :) Anyway, review!


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: I didn't realize how long this chapter was... Oh, and later on in this chapter, just for references: Ricky did meet his mother, but he wasn't going because he thought he'd leave John like in the show. He went because he was ready to change, and he needed to talk to her.

* * *

_Thursday, January 27, 2011_

Amy

It's a sunny Thursday afternoon. After finishing up work at the nursery, I get into my SUV and drive myself home. I don't typically like to drive, but I've grown tired of my parents worrying about me because of my apparent lack of interest to drive.

As I am pulling into my driveway, I see Gretchen sitting on the porch swing watching my dad, who returned from the hotel last Thursday. He's calling for the dog, and I look around, not seeing him anywhere, so my first question when I get out of the car is, "What happened?"

"Darn dog ran away," he mumbles, yelling "Moose" again.

I promenade over to the porch and sit down on the swing beside Gretchen. "My dad's crazy," I whisper to her. She laughs and says, "He's pretty cool." Then she pauses. "How was work?"

"Boring," I say.

She's wearing a parka in forty five degree weather, which is definitely too much, and she has on her jeans and converse, the only time I've seen her wear any other shoes but her boots. "I figured," she says. "I'm glad I don't have to work."

"Why _don't _you work?"

She twirls a lock of her blond hair as she speaks. "I don't really have any reason to."

"Oh," I say. "Well, how much longer are you gonna be in California?"

"Probably a while," she says, dropping the piece of her hair and looking up at me. "At least long enough so I can apply for the university here. And then we'll see if I get accepted, and if I do, I'm staying her until I graduate..."

I nod.

She grins. "So, how was _Ricky_ today?"

"Fine," I say. "We're going out this weekend." The memory makes me smile. Yesterday Ricky asked if I wanted to go out this weekend, and I, without telling my parents, agreed. Just thinking about it leaves me anxious, in an excited way.

"That's good!" she exclaims. "By this weekend do you mean tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

"What a coincidence...," she says. "I'm going out with Ben tomorrow. Not a date. _Definitely_ not a date. Grace and Ben are going on a date and for some reason they asked me to go with them. I said yes, but I'm kinda confused why they want me to go. Do you think it's some sick prank and they're gonna humiliate me in front of all their friends?"

"I doubt it. They aren't that mean."

"Good," she says. "The only problem is that Carter's coming to California sometime this weekend, and it might end up being Friday."

"Oh," I say. "Where does he live?"

"Wisconsin," she says. "He used to live in Oklahoma City with me when we were kids–that's how we met–but then he moved to Wisconsin when he was seven."

"And you somehow know Eric? I thought he used to live in New York."

"Oh, yeah. Well, you see, me and Eric just kind of met when he came to Oklahoma one day. He moves around a lot because of his dad. And this year they moved to California and since he's eighteen he probably isn't moving again with his parents if they decide to move."

"I see."

"And if you're wondering why he hasn't been talking to you... His _kind of girlfriend_ is here. It's nothing personal. That's just how he is–"

"Amber?" I shut my mouth immediately after saying that.

She furrows her eyebrows. "Yeah, how'd you know?"

"Um, he told me about her," I lie.

"She's kind of a brat," she says. "She, like, got emancipated last year because she doesn't want to live with her parents. I think they're drug addicts or something. I don't really know much about that since we're not really friends. But Amber has a friend…Haley. She's okay. We're kind of friends. She and Carter met when he moved to Wisconsin, so they're friends..."

I nod, remembering Haley–red hair, kind of bratty as well. I assume she's just following Amber, but she's probably not really mean at all. And after hearing that Amber has "drug addict" parents, I start to understand why she is the way she is. There's probably a bigger story to it then what Gretchen mentioned, and for some reason I have an odd feeling that Amber never really lived with her parents.

If she became emancipated I doubt her parent's house was her stable home in the first place. For some reason, she reminds me of Ricky, and I almost feel sympathy for her.

* * *

_Friday, January 28, 2011 _

_Amy_

After laying almost two year old John down for a nap, I sit in the dining room at six-thirtyplaying poker with Ashley and my dad. Dad only stayed at the hotel four days, and as far as I'm concerned, everything's okay now; my parents are still arguing, but that's nothing they haven't always done.

Right now, my dad is giving us a long lecture about how to play poker. Neither Ashley nor I know what we are doing, and prior to my dad's return, he has decided to make up leaving us three times by spending more time with us.

Of course, Ashley and I agreed because we're truly afraid of Dad leaving us again, but we haven't said this aloud to anyone. He explained how his leaving had nothing to do with the two of us, and he and my mother have just not been getting along lately.

He also told me that he shouldn't have yelled at me and he wasn't mad because I was hanging out with Ricky. Although my parents haven't said it, I'm under the impression that their fighting is because of financial issues.

Quarrels over money isn't something that my parents used to do a lot–it used to be very rare, actually. With my dad working at the furniture store, we somehow got enough money from that. My mom didn't start working in the business of Architecture until two years ago, so it would make sense that we had enough money. But for some reason I'm still under the impression that we don't.

My dad, Ashley, and I sit silently at the dining room table as he prepares to further explain the game to us. He lays out the cards and unrolls coins, letting them fall noisily to the table. Ashley and I stare at him, perplexed, and know that his attempt at trying to teach us how to play Poker will fail.

I've never played Poker in my life, and although my dad is fairly good at it and I should take after him, it's always looked utterly confusing to me and I doubt I'll figure it out tonight. It should be the perfect day for a Poker game: It's raining buckets outside, occasionally thunder will rumble, and the lightning flickers, illuminating the house, once every minute.

Dad clears his throat and starts explaining the rules of the game, starting with the basics. "Each player is dealt five cards," he says. Ashley stares at him and the Poker chips and rolls her eyes. I try to listen to him, but my wandering mind makes that almost impossible.

I've been out of it for the past couple of weeks, my mind constantly on my future and all that has happened recently. It still doesn't add up, what I witnessed with Ricky a couple of weeks ago in the past, but there really is no other explanation.

"But," my dad chirps, obviously excited about the game, "in Texas Hold 'Em you only get two cards." Ashley rolls her eyes again, and I smile lightly, staring ahead through the window as the rain pours directly out the window.

My dad drones on and on about rules and regulations, but I find it hard to comprehend any of it. When we finally start the game, I have not a clue what I'm doing, but soon enough I catch on, but there's no doubt about it that I'm the worst Poker player in the world.

Eventually, we all just give up because my dad realizes that Ashley and I are not the next Poker champions. He slaps down all his cards and I pull my attention away from the window. "Are we done?" I ask.

He sighs. "I suppose so. Anyone in the mood for pizza?"

I look at him snidely. "Pizza?"

"Yeah–" he begins, but there is a faint knock at the kitchen door in front of us. The rain blocks out the noise to where it sounds farther away. I back out of the chair, looking at the glass door. "That should be Ricky," I say, and my dad turns around in my chair to look in that direction.

We're going out tonight, and I still haven't told my parents. As I make my way to the door, I think I hear my dad sigh, but it's so soft that I'm not sure if my dad is even capable of expressing his emotions in a quiet way.

He always loudly expresses himself, and I'm not beginning to think that he's learning to accept the fact that Ricky and I are closer. We aren't even officially dating yet; we've only technically kissed, in the present, three times: band camp, in the meadow, and at the New Year's Eve party, but my dad doesn't like the idea of us getting along so well.

Yes, I understand that he informed me he wasn't mad and he just needed a few days to figure things out, but I know my dad and I know he can't be happy about this. This is why I chose not to tell him about the date. I'll tell my mom when I'm about to go, and then the ball is in her court. She can either tell him or keep it a secret.

Things are still sometimes awkward in my family. My dad and Ashley still joke around each other like they have always done, but I can tell that Ashley's still cautious of the things she says around him, scared to set him off.

Over time, I assume, things will get better, and I still do hope that maybe my parents will get remarried in the future. Will they, though, I don't know. And maybe it's best I don't know, but sometimes anxiety gets the best of me and I find myself in my room, shaking with fear that my dad really will leave us.

He promised he won't, but I still can't help but anticipate the possibility. I've seen families that have split up–it happens all the time, and as much as I want to believe our family is that one exception who stays a family even though the parents aren't married, I can't.

I go to the door in a daze and open it, the storm getting louder. I smile at Ricky and he comes inside, his hair quite drenched from only being out in the rain for a few seconds. There is a shed above the kitchen door outside, but he has to walk from his car to here.

"What are you doing?" he asks, looking at me and then Ashley and my dad and back at me.

I run a hand through my straightened brown hair. "My dad was trying to teach Ashley and me how to play poker …" I trail off.

I sigh and sit back down at the table, and Ricky sits across from me in the chair beside my dad. "So, Amy, about the pizza–"

"I don't really like pizza," I cut him off.

Ricky looks at me. "How can you not like pizza?"

"I know, right?" Dad says.

"I mean, it's okay," I say slowly, "but I'm more of a chicken person."

My dad sighs and backs out of his chair, walking out of the room and calling the dog. "I'm taking Moose outside," he tells me.

"In the rain?"

Dad looks at me. "He loves the rain." And then he leaves through the kitchen door. Ashley looks at Ricky and me and stands up, walking off to her room. I hear her take her cellphone out of her pocket, and I already know who she's calling: her boyfriend, Grant.

"I'll be right back," I say. "I just need to tell my mom I'm leaving."

"Okay," he says.

I find my mom in the living room, talking on the phone. She turns around and over the phone she says she has to go, and then she hangs up. "Hey, Amy," she says. Slowly, I walk over to the lounge chair opposite the couch and sit down.

I take a deep breath and get this over with. "Ricky and I are going out tonight," I say in a rush, and then I look down to avoid seeing her expression. But then I catch a glance of her from the corner of my eye, and I look up again.

She has on a blue lace dress that falls precisely to her knees and her purse rests on table beside her as if she's getting ready to go somewhere. "Where are you going?" I ask inquisitively. "You're all dressed up."

"I'm not dressed up," she claims with a sigh. "We're meeting with Dr. Fields about this marriage thing, not that he's going to help. I just need more time to think about marrying him." She stops, and I find myself wondering whether the _we_ involves me, but then I realize she's talking about my dad.

"When you say 'we', you mean you and Dad," I say matter-of-factly.

She nods.

"You didn't even tell me you might be getting remarried. Dad didn't tell me. I would think after all the fighting you'd never even consider it." I pause. "Wait...that _is_ the cause of the fight, isn't it? He wanted to get married, and you refused."

She nods again. "You're smart, Amy."

"I thought it was because of financial problems."

"Part of it," she says.

I open my mouth to say something, but then I remember that my mom never responded after I told her I'm going out with Ricky. Instead, I say, "You don't care that we're going out?", and she raises her eyebrows, initially surprised.

"What?"

I sigh. Did she not listen to me the first time I said it? Taking a deep breath, I say more slowly this time, "Would it be okay if Ricky and I go out?"

"When?"

"Um … tonight."

Momentarily she's silent and then she shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly. "I didn't even know you and Ricky were dating." Her voice is calm. "Or wanting to, anyway. Since when has this been going on?"

"We haven't dated yet," I explain. "We've just been hanging out and, well, I don't know. I kind of like him," I under-exaggerate, knowing my feelings for Ricky as of months now have been far over _kind of lik_ing him.

She pauses. "Okay. But you _will _be home, won't you?"

I stare at her for a moment. Why would she think I would stay out all night? A better question is if she'll be home. "Of course," I say slowly, trying to read her expression. "We're just going to that Italian restaurant ten miles from here."

Her face lights up. "Well, so are we."

I hesitate and begin to ask why, but she quickly says, "So, he'll pick you up?"

"Actually," I say, imaging Ricky sitting in the dining room and wondering what he's doing. "He's in the dining room right now. He just came over here. Dad was teaching Ashley and me how to play Poker. That didn't work out so well."

"Did you tell him?"

"That we're going out? No."

She eases herself up from the couch and retrieves her purse from the table, tossing it with a thud over a shoulder. "Okay," she says. "Well, have fun, I guess. I'm already late, so can you check in with Ashley and make sure she'll have the babies under control?"

"Well, wait a minute," I stop her as she turns to walk out of the living room. "_Ashley_ will be home alone with them?"

"Yes, she's in her room with _Griffin_," she emphasizes on the name of Ashley's gay friend. "Well, I think she is. But you tell me you were playing Poker, so I guess he's waiting in there. I think they'll have them under control, but would you just check in to make sure? I've got to get to the restaurant before George gets upset."

"Why didn't you two just go together?"

"Good question," she mumbles, and I watch as she disappears from sight. Walking after her down the hall, I open Ashley's door and find her and Griffin sitting cross-legged on the floor. I let them know that I'm leaving and I make sure they'll watch John and Robie.

Worried that Ashley may be going out with Grant tonight since I'm certain she was calling him earlier, I get Griffin's confirmation that they will both be here all night in my absence. I don't really know Griffin, but I definitely trust him over my sixteen year old sister.

He has the presence that makes him appear trust-worthy and responsible, and it's evident that he has looking after my sister at his best interest. When he speaks to me, or anyone for that matter, about Ashley, he behaves in an over-protective way that one could call creepy, but the fact that someone looks after her in that way comforts me.

Sure, Ashley and I don't get along very well, but I'm happy to find that she does have a friend—a gay friend, but still. Grant, who is Griffin's cousin, isn't exactly the kind of guy I'd ever consider dating.

But this is Ashley and me we're comparing; although we're sisters and should be closer than anyone else on the planet, we're two completely different people.

Setting Robie into the crib across from Ashley's bed, I quietly exit the room and find Ricky coming down the hall across from me with John. He greets me and we move into John's room, where we lay him down into his two-year old bed (although he isn't technically two yet.)

Starting from the time John was roughly eighteen months, he started climbing over his crib, telling us that he was ready to advance to an actual bed.

I walk out with Ricky, my black purse thrown over my shoulder with my phone and money, along with other things, in it. As we walk side by side, several inches apart, I can't help but flashback to times I never could imagine this. I feel almost nervous but comfortable, like I feel safe with him.

I don't know why, but knowing that he's in my future for some reason makes me believe that he'll protect me, though I'm not sure what I need protection from.

Once we reach the door, I grab my jacket off the rack and pull it over my shoulders. With February rolling around, California is experiencing its coldest time of the year. But I know that the cold will not last long.

We walk out through the kitchen door so we can get to the back-yard. We walk down the side of the house and through the black-railing fence, where the cold wind blows through my hair as I step onto the patio of the back-yard. I look through the glass doors, where I can see my kitchen that we just left, and I remember a moment in particular where I spent with Ricky over here.

I remember when I had time traveled to Ricky in a hotel, where he was naked and probably drunk or tipsy or just getting over being drunk, and then I came back to the back of my house where I am now, and my hair blew in the wind as I approached him where he was sitting on the concrete, like he was thinking about something deeply or waiting for me.

I stand completely still on the patio, reliving the moment. The night is very much like it was on that specific night: the black sky perfectly clear, stars twinkling above me, and a breeze. Ricky steps onto the porch beside me, as if he knows what I'm thinking about.

"What were you thinking about when you were sitting here that night?" I ask him, not mentioning what night. "You were like waiting for me, and you looked like you were thinking about something—like you hadn't made up your mind about something."

He steps onto the porch, remembering. "I was considering the possibly that what I saw could possibly be true. I didn't really know until you'd told me, but I had expected something before–"

"Wait, you already knew?"

He sighs. "Didn't know exactly, but you showed up in my apartment, when I was still living in the butcher shop. And then in the present you showed me, and of course I was surprised when you told me, but I had nothing to do but believe you."

"That must have been a surprise," I note, and we stand on the patio for a little longer until walking through the gate to get to his car that's parked on the street. I think about what he said, how I showed up in his apartment, and I wonder how many times that's happened. And then I think to myself how many times he's showed up at my house. Once. And I wasn't even there to see him.

I always have this feeling that there's something separating us, something getting in the way, but I don't understand what.

I notice that the ground under the driver's side of the car is buried with mud. Ricky meets up with me and says, "You might want to go the other way." I slide into the passenger seat and Ricky gets into the driver's side, and the car starts up with a low muffling sound.

He advances ahead and down the street, and I briefly consider what my parents could be doing right now, what they'll discuss with Doctor Fields, and if they'll be staring at us the whole time.

"I forgot to mention," I say suddenly. "My parents are meeting Dr. Fields in the same restaurant we're going to– "

"Really?"

"Yeah. If that bothers you, we could go somewhere else."

"No, it's fine. I guess," he says.

The remaining time in the car the rain fills the silence as neither of us say anything for a few minutes. Three miles from the restaurant, we mention how strange Ben was acting today at school, and Ricky says he was no better at work and he assumes it's something to do with Ben and Adrian.

I think to myself how much I like that we're able to have a normal conversation, considering that he knows about my problem. As we pull up to the restaurant, immediately I remember this place; this is the same restaurant where Ben and I went and Jimmy and I went nearly a year ago.

It's a popular place, and it's also close around the area where most of us at Grant High School live. Fairly expensive, which neither of us could afford much, but_..._

He parks in the driveway and we go through the door and walk up to the front desk where there's a rather large line. But the line moves fast, everyone quickly getting checked in– they had to check each and every person in before they pass through the other side of the wall. Once it is Ricky and my turn to reach the desk, they check us in and we walk into the Dining room.

The lights are kept low and dimmed, the room being lit by red illuminated lights on the sides of the wall, and red booths line the walls with tables in between. Red seems to be a theme color around here.

As we walk the floors, we see that the place is packed, which we wouldn't expect since it isn't especially loud in here. It is loud enough that you can't hear the music over the talking, but nothing extreme.

I sit in one of the booths across from the tables, and Ricky sits across from me. And then I groan. My parents are sitting with the therapist approximately fifteen feet away. Ricky notices them, too, but he doesn't say anything about it at first.

"What exactly are they talking about?" he asks.

"Well, my dad thinks talking with him will settle their dispute over getting married or not."

"And your mom's the latter," he says, no question in his tone.

"Yes," I say. "Even though they've talked to him before and they've even talked with each other and discussed different alternatives and dates, it doesn't seem that they're ever going to reach an agreement."

The following evening isn't as bad as I thought it may be: My parents do look over in our direction now and then, but they keep that to a minimum, and I mentally make a note to myself to later thank them for that. I quickly glance over at my dad a couple of times, and although I can see the uncomfortable look on his face, I can tell he's trying his best to not be angry.

Because the restaurant is so packed, it takes the waitress near fifteen minutes before she even takes our drink order. Ricky and I both order a Coke, and the waitress nods and says she'll be right back with our drinks.

Five minutes later she returns with the drinks and takes our order. I only order a cheeseburger because everything else is so expensive, although Ricky hasn't said anything about the prices being an issue.

I think about the symbolism of being here with Ricky after Jimmy, constantly hounding him as I constantly called Ricky. That was the first night he had John over his old apartment in the butcher shop and I was worried because Adrian was over there and I didn't want him being distracted.

I can't help but think about how this feels so right and comfortable, sitting here with Ricky, more comfortable than I ever thought it could be. I feel as if this is the way it should have always been, and I don't feel on edge like it would with some other guy, although I did feel comfortable with Jimmy, the majority of the time...

But with Ricky it feels right and natural, like it's always been fate all along. And I found that out just a short year ago.

Ricky tells me that with only four months left until he graduates, he enrolled in college – a community college here in Los Angeles. He tells me that he might consider transferring to a University to finish the last two years of college, and I quickly remember when going to Wisconsin that future Ricky said he only goes for two years.

However, he was only twenty two at that point. Maybe eventually he does transfer to a University? I think to myself how I can change that, how I can talk him into going to a four year college, but I decide that it's his decision.

I ask him questions about his life, and I've realized that I don't really know him very much, that there's so many things I didn't know. Like for instance, he tells me that he listens to metal music and that he can cook, something I didn't know about him before.

I tell him that I can't cook at all unless I'm heating something up in the microwave.

We talk about plans for John's second birthday coming up on April twenty first and what we're going to do. His first birthday was at the park, where it had originally been just for the family but for some reason my friends decided they were family and came anyway.

Whether or not he feels comfortable telling me, Ricky tells me that when he went to see his mother she gave him thousands of dollars that she'd saved up as a Thank You Fund for his father getting back into prison.

That's obviously an uncomfortable subject for him to talk about, so I easily let things continue. When we somehow, I can't remember how, get onto the topic of his foster parents, he tells me about the foster service and all the kids that had been in and out of his house throughout his living there, one child especially named Naomi who's seven years younger than he is.

When Ricky and I realize we've been done eating for a while and we're ready to leave, he leaves the money inside the bill and we leave together. We walk to his car, and I can't help but wonder what Ricky in the future is doing right now. Or if he even exists and if time is somehow looped together and coexistent, or if it only bends when I alter it unintentionally.

If I can get there, time must all be going on at once.

Following shortly after my dad returned from the hotel and Ricky and I hung out again and I saw him in the past, I started time traveling more and more, three times last week and once this week. But I didn't know where I was. The first time, I was in the back of someone's car. The second, I was in the meadow two years from now where I showed Ricky I could time travel.

The third, I was on a bridge.

And the fourth, I was at some kind of party or celebration. None of the four times have any obvious significance to me.

Ricky drives to his apartment, and we go in for a few minutes because I don't want to go back to my house, but as I look at the clock I realize I should get home soon. Instead of taking Ricky's car, however, we decide to walk.

Slipping out of his apartment door, we walk onto the wet, black street. The sky is jet-black, and the rain has settled into a mist, lightly brushing against my skin and landing in the mini ponds on the side of the road.

We pass his apartment and several houses on either side of us. We walk barely an inch apart, the side of our jackets sometimesbrushing against one another. "Thanks for tonight," I say.

"Sure," he says. "We should go out again."

"Definitely."

"Next week?"

I smile. "That sounds nice."

For two blocks only one car passes by to the left of us. At eleven-thirty, the street we're walking on is mostly empty. It's seven or eight miles from Ricky's apartment to my house, the long way, and so far we've not even walked a mile.

From where we are, I can see the skyscrapers of downtown far in the distance. To get to my house we have to stay on the two-lane residential area. We pass a gas station as we get past town, and now, because we're taking the long way, we walk across the bridge overlooking the water.

We get onto the street again and pass by Ben's tall two-story house. A right turn. More unfamiliar houses. I hope to myself that Ricky knows where he's going because I don't, and I say nothing about it because I don't want Ricky to know the sad truth that I don't know how to get to my own house going this way.

Los Angeles is a big place and there's a lot of different ways to get to my house. When we finally reach my house after about two hours of walking through rain and talking, I walk up to the front porch, and the dog runs down the two steps, and the porch swing rocks lightly as if Moose had just jumped down from it.

I lean against the railing and Ricky stands beside me. I hear the wind blowing and feel the cold breeze on my neck. "You can stay for a while if you want," I say.

"Okay," he says, but neither of us move to go inside. I can vaguely hear the sound of the TV playing in the living room, which means my parents have gotten home and either one of both of them are watching TV.

Ricky and I stare at each other, and while he turns to walk inside the house, he asks, "You want to go inside?"

"Yeah," I say monotonously, but he freezes and I don't move, either. He walks in front of me again and then slowly leans closer, then his lips meet mine and he pulls away for a second, leaning back in again, and our lips meet another time, setting my body and soul on fire.

A new chapter is about to begin in my life–I can feel it–and tonight, right now, as we kiss, every doubt I've ever had in my mind erases. Every worry I've ever had about the future disappears, and kissing him, I can feel my heart fly high above my head.

Later that night, we go back inside and my dad, Griffin, and Ashley are in the kitchen playing Poker. Apparently Ashley has gotten better at it thanks to Griffin. They invite us to play, and Ricky and my dad play Poker together, and Ricky beats him for the first time.

Afterward, when my dad deems Ricky the Poker champion, he jokingly challenges Ricky and me. At first I think Ricky is just letting me win, but as the game goes on, I begin to grasp the concept and I get really good at it. I win, and when my dad and I play the game, I win again.

When Ashley and Griffin leave the room, it is just Ricky, my dad, and me, and I can see my dad watching his daughter with fascination, noticing the look in her eyes, the look of new love, as the lovely kiss lingers on my lips.


	12. Chapter 12

I want to apologize for taking nearly a month to update. And I also know that I haven't updated my other stories in forever, but I'll try to get to them eventually. This story takes up most of my time, and it's kind of taking me a while to get this story to where I want it to go.

Make sure to review though, because they make me update faster. And as usual ask any questions if you're confused.

You're going to learn more about Amy in this chapter. And let me know what you think. Personally, I don't like this chapter too much but it's your opinion that's the most important to me. Enjoy!

* * *

_Friday, February 4, 2011_

_Amy_

I'm walking inside my house this evening with John after work. I see my dad leisurely pondering something in the living room, and he stops when he sees me walking towards him. "Hey, Ames," he says, trying to sound nonchalant, but I can see how hard he has to try.

I smile and he continues: "Going out with _Ricky_," he struggles over his name, "tonight?"

"Yeah," I mumble composedly. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, and that you had to find out from Mom and from seeing us in the restaurant yourself. I didn't really think it was that big of a deal."

"It doesn't matter," he says calmly. "Although I'd rather you be with someone like Ben or Jimmy–"

"Ben's with Adrian, and Jimmy and I don't speak to each other anymore."

He turns up his nose. "Ben and Adrian?"

"Yep," I mutter quietly, looking down at the ground.

He nods and his emotion changes completely. "Well, I guess I should mention that Mimzy's getting married some time in April."

"Again?"

"Yeah, again."

Since the conversation is evidently over, I turn to walk to my room to get ready, hearing my dad say behind my back, "I'm going to try to get used to this. It was bound to happen one day. I mean, I knew you couldn't loathe him forever. I just didn't expect one day to be so soon."

I remember the point of time that I did loathe him, a time where the future was unclear to me, where I really couldn't see any future for myself. But I don't even understand how it is possible for me to feel anything less than what I do.

I've begun to feel more certain of the future in a way, because I know it's not far behind. And maybe, just maybe, my future has already begun.

* * *

_Wednesday, March 23, 2011_

_Amy_

"Well, you must be Amy," Amber says, walking up the pathway to me with Eric and Carter. I'm at Gretchen's house—her parents somehow have afforded to buy a new house, although they are only living here until Gretchen gets into college, so I assume they're flooded with cash.

She lives in a one-story Craftsman house enclosed with a brilliant black fence with a huge backyard. Having Amber here somehow gives the house a sense of viciousness, or that's how I feel anyway.

This is the first time I'm meeting her in the present, and my first impression of her already is that I don't like her. She looks snidely at me, standing close to Eric dominantly, and he's immediately turned over from the guy that I once knew.

"And you must be Amber," I say back to her with just as much attitude. She glares at me, and I glare back at her, wondering what I did to her that made her hate me so much. We just met each other; how could I have done something wrong already?

Before either of us have the time to say anything else, the door opens behind me and Gretchen joins us outside. "Oh," she says, looking at Carter. "I didn't know they were coming..."

He says nothing, giving her a look that evidently means he didn't bring them here by choice. I wonder why they all hang out together anyway, why Gretchen and Carter put up with Amber if they aren't friends. And like I once thought recently, there's probably more of a story to it than that which I know.

"Um, come in," Gretchen says, walking in with me, and Carter walking behind Gretchen. Amber laughs behind me, and I roll my eyes. "Just ignore her," Gretchen says, not bothering to keep her voice down. "She's a byotch, but for some reason she's kind of my friend. Well, not really, but you get it."

'Just ignore her'; that seems to be a line they all use a lot.

Gretchen pushes open the door, and we walk inside, our shoes beating against the wooden floors of her living room. Gretchen walks off into the kitchen, the adjoining room to the left of the living room. Both rooms share the same wall that separates them as well, a small turn.

One window is on the wall, where you can look in and see the kitchen from the living room.

I hear Carter coming up behind me, and he smiles. "Hi, Amy," he says.

"Hello," I say, turning to look at him. He's just as I remember him: straight blond hair, at least six feet tall, muscular body like a football player.

Behind me, I hear Amber and Eric walk up and the door shuts loudly behind them. "Got any alcohol?" Amber calls to Gretchen. With a confused look, Gretchen walks out of the kitchen and shakes her head. "No, I don't..."

I turn around and see Amber moving closer to him, but he recoiled. Gretchen rolls her eyes and walks back into the kitchen, and she calls to me, "Hey, Amy, can you go outside and bring the cat in?" _The cat_. Her estranged black cat Sadie.

I walk past Amber and Eric to go outside, and I don't look back at them as I shut the door. I step down the top step on Gretchen's small concrete porch and attempt to step down the last, but my foot gets caught at the top of the step and I fall flat on my face into the grass, scraping my legs and ankles, and landing with an _oomph, _and then I disappear.

* * *

Tuesday, January 3, 2017

I'm in some kind of building, on a long corridor with doors on either side of me. The solid black walls and floors of the narrow hall remind me of a maze, a dark, ominous maze, but for some reason I have the feeling that my being here is illegal.

I look around the building, peering across the hall, and I can't see an exit anywhere. I run down the hall, looking for an escape.

When I come to the exit at the end of the hall, I push on the double doors but they do not budge. I groan and try again, hoping to receive a response this time, but I have no luck. I go to the opposite direction of the hall. Dead end.

There are two turns, and I randomly select the right and try down that hall, but there are only a bunch of symmetrically closed doors. My breath comes out uneven from running, and the air is chilly, like a freezer room.

I decide that I have two choices: one, to wait until I leave this place, facing any possible danger that might be on its way, or two: try to find an escape. I choose the second option. Reaching the end of this corridor, I come to another dead end.

Exhaling unsteadily, I forcibly turn the doorknob on one of the doors, but it's locked. "Come on," I whisper frantically. My heart thuds in my chest, and something tells me to stop for a moment to realize where the danger is, to see if there even is any danger, but another part tells me to find a way out of here as fast as I can.

On the door at the very end of the hall, there is a glass window at the top, and I stand on my tip-toes to look inside. I see boxes lying on the floor of the dark room, but nothing else. I take the fire extinguisher from the jack and ram it into the window, and I hold my head down as the thick glass shatters into a thousand pieces around me.

As I reach my hand inside so I can unlock the door, feeling a piercing pain shoot through my body as I step on glass, I suddenly feel someone grabbing me from behind and I gasp and flip around. "What are you doing here?" a low voice asks.

"I— I was just—" I stammer helplessly, the look on my face evidently that of a child's. The man hauls me away, putting handcuffs around my hands. "You have no business being here," he tells me, and I just nod, trying to find my sense of place.

Mumbling something to himself, he takes his key and unlocks the door, where he leads me to the police car parked in the grass past the concrete pavement. Have I been here longer than I thought, or has the police car been here the whole time?

Now I'm being shoved into the car, and the latches on the doors are locked instantly. I lean back against the seat nervously, the handcuffs pulling my hands together behind my back. To the right of me, a scruffy man sits there glaring at me, also handcuffed, and I tighten my jaw and look away from him, focusing my gaze out the dark window, where the police officer is no longer in sight.

I quicken my breaths, trying to bring fear onto myself, trying to have a panic attack. Everything happens as if it's in fast-motion. The driver's side door swings open, and the police officer calls someone on his phone. "Amy Juergens," he says into the phone, pausing to listen. "Yeah, that's her."

My breaths are now naturally coming quickly as the fact that he knows my name sinks in. I recall in my head the previous events. Had I told him my name? No. I said one sentence to him, and he had barely responded.

"No, I'm positive it's her. I know that she's with that guy, the one I used to have so much trouble with." He pauses. "Yes. I haven't seen him up close in years, but about two years ago I saw them both together from a distance.

I've attempted to arrest him five times already, but once I looked back in the backseat, he's gone. One moment he's there, then he's not. I don't get it." Another pause. "You think they could be terrorists, maybe? Or magicians?"

I make a face, trying to glance at the policeman so I can remember the face. He's old, around sixty.

"The last time I caught him was about four years ago, but this has got to be her. I never see him anymore, though. About fifteen or twenty years ago... five years, and then four years ago. It's ridiculous, though, because four years ago he looked almost exactly as he did twenty years ago, as if he had hardly aged in twenty years." He pauses.

"It's quite frustrating. None of us can catch him. I've always spotted him running down some alley or stealing, but he must have some kind of surreptitious tricks up his sleeve. I'm sure it's her, though." He looks behind me.

"I don't know whether or not to take her... Damn, she looks so young. It makes me wonder if it's really her," he mutters. "Twenty at the oldest, maybe." He scowls, but before he can say anything else his eyes are frozen on me as he comprehends what I'm doing.

As sweat rises on my forehead, I lean forward in the seat, picking up some kind of object that I don't stop to look at and throwing it at the window. It must be strong enough because the glass of the window explodes dangerously about the car, and the piercing sound of glass shattering expedites through my ears. But now I feel myself disappearing, the police officer looking at me in disbelief before I vanish.

* * *

_Wednesday, March 23, 2011_

_(5:30 pm)_

I appear in my backyard inside the fence, feeling relieved to be back in the protection of my home, also relieved that I usually end up in the places that draw me in the most, important or familiar places, like my home or with Ricky, who's obviously in my future.

Bumps are still risen on my skin, and my forehead is sweaty and my heart pounding. I take a couple of deep breaths to calm myself, and now off in the distance I can see my dad coming through the gate with the dog.

He stops several feet away from me, and the golden Labrador Retriever stares up at me with curios eyes, wagging his long tail in the humid air. "What are you doing out here?" my dad asks, pulling on the leash.

"Uh, I was just—just, uh, walking around. It's kind of...stuffy in the house, don't you think?" I swallow down my lie, pressing my bare feet together so my dad doesn't see the blood.

He nods his head slowly, his eyebrows crinkled. "Uh huh," he mumbles. "Yeah. It is." And then he goes on to say a comment about the dog, and he goes inside through the kitchen door, leaving me on the patio.

I follow shortly after, quietly shutting the kitchen door behind me, and I walk into the empty kitchen, turning the light on. Coming from the hallway I can hear footsteps, and I freeze in place beside the counter to see who's there.

Despite the fact that it's still light outside, I'm jumpy from earlier and not sure how long it'll take me to get over it. But Ricky comes into the room with John, and I sigh. "Hey," he says.

"Hello," I respond solemnly, and before I have the chance to say anything else, my mom comes into the room and is oblivious to the fact that I've been gone for several hours. She must be thinking that I just got back from Gretchen's house, that I've been there all morning and evening.

When my dad comes into the room with Ashley close behind him, my mom pulls something out of the oven and we eat dinner. We all eat in the dining room, something we don't do often. The conversation is light, and I mostly listen instead of saying anything.

Ashley says something, that I don't really pay attention to what, to Mom and Dad about Grant, and they get into a small argument. When everyone stares at me for picking loudly at my plate with my fork, I drop it onto the plate and look up. "I've never been good at cutting steak," I claim, smiling and picking my fork up again.

My parents continue on with the subject of Grant with Ashley, and I regret listening in. Ricky, sitting across from me, looks uncomfortable, and I peak up at him and smile. He half smiles briefly, and I quickly finish dinner and back up loudly out of my chair.

"Good night," I say audibly, not specifying that I'm going to sleep since I'm not. Truthfully, I am a bit tired but there's no way I can sleep right now. Without a response, I walk out of the room with Ricky following close behind me.

He quickly catches up with me once I reach the hallway, and he extends his hand towards me without touching me. "Are you okay?" he asks, and I nod.

"Yes. I was almost arrested, but yes," I tell him softly, making it clear that I don't want to elaborate any further. For whatever reason possible, he takes this calmly and doesn't say anything about it, as if he can read me so easily.

"Am I really that legible to you?" I say, reaching John's room to check that he's asleep. Finding him asleep in his bed, I close the door silently and indolently walk to my room.

He clears his throat once we're both in the doorway. "Actually, the opposite," he says, smirking. "It still amazes me, Amy—I admit, but I figure if I just accept it soon enough everything will start making sense."

"Don't hold your breath on that. Nothing's ever really made sense."

He grins as if in agreement, but I find myself relieved that he doesn't say anything else about it. I catch him staring at me around my chest or neck, and I say, "What?"

"What you're wearing—"

"Oh," I realize immediately, bringing my hand to the necklace around my neck. "This is from band, 2009. Remember those things they made us wear when we went to competition?" He nods. "Yeah, well I still wear mine sometimes." I smile sheepishly.

"I can't believe you still have it."

"You don't?"

"No." He laughs. "There was really no point to it."

I smile, looking down at the slender chain and running my thumb over the silver keystone. "Yeah, I know. I never understood why we got these things. I mean, you would think they were really cheap since we all got one, but I don't know. I guess it was a way to keep up with us all." I pause. "I still kind of miss band. I miss all the practices now, so I can never go to any of the concerts ..."

"Maybe you could get your hours changed at work," he offers.

"I wish I could do that," I say. "But oh well. It is what it is..." He stares at me, smiling, and then he kisses me and reluctantly pulls away but instead of saying what I think he will, he says, "Do you want to go somewhere?"

"Like where?"

Still beaming, he says, "Come on. I want to show you something."

_* * *_

"Oh my god. This is so cool!" I exclaim, following Ricky inside the studio of his apartment. The wooden floors and walls of the interior surround the room, where another white wall is in front of a keyboard. "When did this happen?"

"Actually, it's been here. I just never showed it to you when you were here the first time—"

"It's amazing," I say, walking and scoping around. My voice echoes throughout the room. "Is it sound-proof?"

"I'm not sure."

I walk over to the keyboard and sit down on the seat, pressing the power button. "Walk out and see if you can hear it," I tell him. He walks out of the room and shuts the door, and through the transparent glass I smile at him. I start playing a song on the keyboard, a song that I learned after taking lessons as a younger child.

I had always played the piano as a kid, but I'd never persisted at it. I played a few concerts, and one of the reasons I ever wanted to go to Julliard was mainly because of my love for music through the piano. Then in high school I joined the band, and I still miss it, like I told Ricky earlier.

I forgot how much I loved playing the piano, though, and I try to recall when I last played the piano in our living room. I can't even remember.

I continue to play, getting lost in it. The song is _Arabesque, _by _Debussy_. Ricky comes in now, shutting the door back, and he stands over me. I move over in the seat and let him sit beside me, and then I stop playing the song.

"I didn't know you could play the keyboard," he says, intrigued.

"I took lessons a long time ago," I say, shrugging my shoulders. "I guess I just stopped after that."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"You should keep at it. You're really good," he says, and then I play a song for him.

* * *

Late that night Ricky and I are sitting on the couch together, and when he isn't looking at me I find myself gawking at him, thinking about him in the future and the past and the present and putting all the times together.

He catches me looking at him and I grin, coming back to reality. I look at the time on the clock, and before I have a chance to say anything about how late it is, Ricky says, "If you want you can stay here. It's really late and you can't drive past curfew. I mean, I could drive you, but..."

"I guess I could stay."

He smiles and stands up, and I watch him curiously as exits the room and goes down the hall. About thirty seconds later he returns with a pillow, and he sets it down at the end of the couch. "I'll sleep here," he says.

"Won't you get cold?"

"No." He retrieves a blanket from the cabinet across the room, and he tosses it near the pillow. The room is only a little cold, but it's comfortable.

He sits down beside me. "So, what do you want to do?"

"Um...I'm not sure," I reply hesitantly. We sit there for about ten minutes making small talk, until finally we decide to watch a movie. He flips through the movies on the pay-per view, but we haven't heard of most of them.

When he gets to the end we come across a horror movie that I automatically know we're going to end up watching. And I'm right. I agree, despite my aversion to horror films. Before John I would always watch these movies with my dad.

Before the movie starts, a warning comes up on the screen that 'under 17 requires accompanying parent or adult guardian.' He accepts and it starts up without any previews, and immediately suspenseful music plays as a girl is being chased in a house.

Everything moves really slow for at least thirty minutes, until we learn that the man that wants to murder her is possessed.

I have the blanket wrapped over me as I get ready to hide under it. I try to stay calm, but these movies really freak me out. Ricky doesn't even look an ounce scared, and here I am, petrified, wanting to bury my face into his shoulder or shut the movie off.

_Damn it._

* * *

_Ricky_

The fact that people actually pay money to watch this rubbish baffles me. The ridiculous acting and the music is all so over-dramatic that it can't possibly get its true intentions across. But with Amy burrowing her head into the crook of my neck, I can hardly complain.

I pretend that I'm not affected, not that she would notice anyway. But then I decide,what am I supposed to do? Suffer through this whole movie? I'm naturally a restless person so watching this is just antagonizing.

I kiss her quickly, unaware of her reaction, but she kisses me back and I lean partially in front of her, running my cold hand under her shirt and touching the small of her back. She doesn't do anything about it, so I move my hand up around her chest.

I make a note to myself not to do anything else. Once the movie has finally finished, Amy takes the remote and turns it off immediately. I've never seen someone so scared of a movie before.

It's nearly two in the morning now, and I can tell Amy's uncomfortable as she quickly stands up. She looks like she tries to contain herself and then she says to me, "I'll be right back... I'm just going to change." I nod, and she walks off down the hall.

When she comes back we sit down beside each other for a few minutes, and I try to read her expression; she's either nervous or uncomfortable. I don't know. As I watch her, I remember earlier in the studio when she played the keyboard.

There's so many things I don't know about her.

"I didn't know you were that afraid of scary movies," I tell her.

"It's not that," she says. "Just about supernatural stuff, like ghosts, and possessed people."

"And murder?"

"Yeah, if the man's possessed. He was like obsessed with her, you know?"

I chuckle. "He couldn't help himself."

Amy rolls her eyes playfully, but despite that she's still not quite herself. She pushes the blanket away, then she turns to me. "I forgot to mention. My grandmother's getting married, again, in two or three weeks. Do you want to come?"

"I don't know. Won't she feel like I'm intruding?"

"Not at all. I'm sure she'll be happy for you to be there. And besides, I think it's a public wedding. Anyone's invited." She pauses and looks away with a grin on her face. "...And I'm kind of in charge of baking the cake."

"Ah," I smile, "I see."

"No, that's not it at all, really. I want you to come, but you know my culinary skills are, well, lacking... So I was thinking—hoping, really—that maybe you could assist me?"

"Why, may I ask, would you be in charge of baking the cake? Don't they usually just buy one?"

"Mm-hmm. Actually, my grandmother said she wanted all of us to help out and make it. She likes the home-made stuff. My dad can bake fine, but he doesn't really like following instructions so usually he messes it up. And my mom said she'd help me, but for some reason she wanted me to do it all. Like she knew I'd invite you and wanted us to do it together. I don't know."

"Well, I don't mind helping you."

"Okay."

I clear my throat. "And why haven't I met her?"

"Well, as you know, she lives all the way in Palm Springs. She never really comes to visit anymore since she has Alzheimer's ... You know, she's one of the main people who convinced me to keep John."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah," she laughs, blushing, and I take this as my chance to kiss her again. She doesn't push me away, but she's frozen beside me. I pull away. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know," she says slowly. "Nothing. I'm sorry. I'm just making this awkward–"

"No, you aren't."

"I'm stopping to talk. Don't lie to me. I'm making it awkward."

"You are not," I insist. "Talk to me all you like. Actually, I'd prefer that you do. Tell me if I do something you're uncomfortable with, okay?"

"Okay."

But I don't do anything, noticing the tired look in her eyes. "You want to go to sleep now?" I ask, and she nods. It's close to three in the morning now. "All right," I continue. "You can sleep in my room, okay? Good night, Amy."

It takes her a minute to get up. She leans into me and kisses me, her chest touching mine, and then she stands up. "Good night, Ricky."

* * *

_Amy_

I don't want to be nervous around him, and I wasn't expecting it either. But I guess this comes naturally with relationships, or maybe it's just me. When I go into his room and get into the bed, I toss and turn excessively.

I have a permanent mental image of the possessed man from the movie as the lightning strikes like a gunshot, lighting up the room every ten seconds, and the thunder follows only a second or two after.

The only light is from the lightning, because the hallway lights are turned off. I'm tempted to roll over and turn on the lamp, but I decide against doing that. The wind picks up, blowing heavily against the window, and I hear something howling outside.

It feels like an hour has passed already, and I know the storm isn't going to wind down anytime soon. When I look up at the window, I can see a figure of some kind through the curtain, and though I know it's only a tree, I shoot up from the bed, running down the hall.

Then I freeze right there when I come to the bathroom door. It's pitch-black dark and I'm not sure if I'm hallucinating or if what I'm seeing is real, but on the floor there's a guy sitting there and staring at me. I don't think he's wearing any clothes.

I start to say something to him, but he shushes me, and when the lightning strikes again he disappears in a flash, and I wonder if what I saw was really even there.

I reach the end of the hallway and contemplate walking into the living room. Sensing that Ricky's awake, I ask quietly, "Can I sleep with you?" I feel like a little kid coming into her parents' room in the middle of the night.

"Of course," he says, and I walk over to the couch, knowing that I'm going to have to sleep practically on top of him. He moves over a little, though, and then he holds me against his chest, and I try to sleep but don't feel like I can.

But with his arm wrapped around me, I fall asleep quickly that night, wondering what's in store for us tomorrow and thinking that maybe he already feels the same way I do.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** I'm so slow at updating! I'm really sorry about that. I may finish chapter 14 by next week, but if I can't, it'll be at least two or more weeks because I have family coming over.

The beginning of this chapter has nothing to do with time travel; it's simply a flashback.

* * *

_Wednesday, October 4, 2000_

Ricky

All I know is that I'm being hauled across the crowded room, full of children who I was told had behavioral problems, mental disabilities, and other disorders that somehow are linked to the fact that their parents either don't want them, are not around, or can't provide for them.

"Ricky," the social worker says cautiously, "this is Margaret and Dr. Sanjay Shakur." The three of them seem so tall standing over me, and with the way they're all staring at me, I feel smothered. They just kind of smile at me, while I stand coldy with my lips pursed and my face white as a sheet. I don't feel obligated to return the smile, nor do I even look their way except for a quick glance.

"Hi, Ricky. It's very nice to meet you," Margaret says.

"Very nice," Sanjay agrees.

I clench my teeth together and shove my hands into my pockets, taking out one of those small paddle ball things that I was given in the clinic before coming here. They're trying to be nice, I get that. But I don't like it. I hate the way they all treat me. I didn't expect this. A little while ago I'd finally had enough of my father's violent abuse, and I told my teacher because I didn't have anyone else to tell.

She contacted the police and after that I was sent to an orphanage-like place, but they promised me I wouldn't stay there long, and they were telling the truth. They said I'm lucky because usually it takes longer for children to find a foster home. Apparently Margaret and Sanjay are "special". I don't know what that's supposed to mean.

I'm happy to be away from my parents—I really am—but the fact is I don't know these people, and I'm afraid to get close to someone.

* * *

_Saturday, June 25, 2011_

Amy

It has taken me a while, but I finally understand, yet I know I probably can never understand completely. Every day that I'm around Ricky, I know that he lives with the constant reminder of his past, and it hovers around him every day.

I can see it in his eyes, and I wonder why I didn't really understand before. I wonder why I was so hard on him before. But this is now and I'm happy to say that things are finally moving forward. Just sometimes, at the end of the day, everything hits me and I find myself crying.

It's like everything in the past years have caught up with me: the baby, finding out my future, discovering that there are things in the depths of the world that are mysteries, things that I haven't yet discovered, and things that don't make any sense.

But the present is beautiful, and right now I've got a long way to go. I've come to realize that.

Right now, I'm sitting at the small table behind Ricky's kitchen in his apartment after dinner. My dad has taken John and Robie out to the park with the dog, and I'm actually surprised to say that my mom went along with them.

I can see Ricky staring at me, and I wonder what I look like staring off into space. I return the look with an apologetic smile. "You okay?" he asks quietly.

"Yeah, fine."

"Are you sure? What's on your mind?" He picks up our plates and goes into the kitchen to put them into the dish washer, turning around as he does so to look at me questionably.

"I'm just thinking about...my life, I guess. And my parents. They actually went to the park, _together_. It surprises me, it really does." I hesitate a moment, nervously looking down at my fingernails. "Do you think we're doing the right thing?"

I hear the dish washer shut, and I see him creasing his eyebrows as he makes his way out of the kitchen. I get up from the table to stand in front of him. "What do you mean?" he asks.

"I don't know," I reply slowly. "I mean, do you feel like we're together because we have to be?"

He shakes his head. "We don't have to do anything."

"I've seen it, Ricky. You're everywhere in my future. And I couldn't change it, not even if I wanted to."

His eyes are still narrowed as he tries to comprehend my expression. The truth is I'm not sure where this is coming from; it's just on my mind, and he wanted to know. "I just keep waiting for things to be...normal again." I laugh briefly, biting my bottom lip to hide my half-smile. "But I guess things were never really normal in the first place, were they?"

He walks closer to me, but still keeping a small distance between us. He says nothing as he stands scrutinizing my expression. He touches my arm lightly, waiting for me to say something.

I suck in a deep breath. "Do you ever wonder...what life would be like...if we had never met at band camp?"

"Do you?"

Answering a question with a question. I don't know what to think of that. "Yes, I do," I admit. "I just wonder if we would ever have even talked if it hadn't been for that...It's like...all along...we've been forced to be together. We were forced because of John...and now we're forced because—"

"Amy, you've seen the future the way you have because that's the path you're on now. You act like, like your life is already over, Amy. Like it's already happened. But you can decide whatever you want. For instance, say you see us staying at my apartment tonight which we had originally planned. And then we—by free-will—change that. Want to go to the dance tonight?"

I chuckle. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. It's...normal. That's what you want, right?" He smirks.

"Yes," I say with a smile. "But... I can't even dance."

"I can," he answers, smirking.

I chuckle in response, wondering if I should really go or not. School ended for the summer just a couple of weeks ago and Grant high school is having a summer dance, which is open to the public. I've kind of been hinting around that I want to go, and I guess he did catch that after all.

Actually, now I'm not sure if I want to go or not; I guess I just don't think we should be at his apartment all night. And like he said, it is our chance at normalcy.

"Alright, I guess. But I'm gonna have to go home to get changed—"

"It's casual... You can wear whatever you want."

"I don't care."

"Aright. I'll take you home. Okay?"

I nod. "Okay."

* * *

Ricky waits in the car so I can get changed. I know it's not a big deal that I change since it's casual, but I don't want to wear the clothes I have on: blue jean shorts and a faded T-shirt.

I make my way down the hall and into my room, quickly trading my clothes out for jeans and a V-neck shirt. I'm beginning to not like this idea so much, going to the dance. I remember how nervous dances used to make me. Not that I'm nervous now, but now that I think about it I do have horrible butterflies in my stomach which I guess could relate to nerves.

I'm also afraid I'll have one of my 'spells' in the middle of the dance and everyone will see. But somehow I find myself walking out of my room and getting back inside Ricky's car anyway.

"You look nice," he compliments.

"Thanks?" I put on my seat-belt. I'm only wearing casual clothes. And so is he. "You too."

"Think we'll see Ben there?" he asks.

"I don't know...I'm not sure I want to see him."

"_Ben_ is a part of your normal life."

"And you're not?" I inquire. "_I'm_ what makes my life not normal."

"Right," he agrees, driving onto the road. He tilts his head to glance my way for a second. "When I look at you, Amy, I don't know...I just feel...connected to you. I mean, I was the first person you told."

"And the only," I reply. "It still surprises me how easily you took it. I remember when I first disappeared, I saw the shock in your eyes, but yet you tell me you knew before I told you..." As I say this, I realize something that basically sums up my thoughts, though Ricky doesn't agree with them.

Even if I hadn't _shown_ Ricky, he would've still found out from me in the future when I showed up in his apartment. Yet, I hadn't actually done that yet. It's the inevitability that makes me wonder—makes me wonder if it was ever meant to be any other way.

"I just wonder if anyone knows about this in the future. Or if it just stays a secret forever," I say instead.

"Mm," he mumbles, pulling into the driveway of my school—since he had just graduated. He stops his car in the parking lot, looking over at me. "How do you feel now?"

Nervous. Curious, as always. I smile. "Normal."

"That's the idea," he says. He unbuckles my seat belt for me—not that it's necessary—and we both get out of the car, walking side by side on our way to the gym where others are heading.

"You're lucky you don't have school anymore," I tell him.

He looks over at me and smirks. "Yeah, but I have college in just three months."

"True."

We're quiet as we see Ben standing in the doorway of the gym, staring at us. Before we approach him, I hear Ricky say quietly, "Hey, Amy, do you think we should call your parents? Let them know we're here or somethin' and check on John."

"I'm sure they're getting home now, or already are home. I don't really think it matters we're here. I mean, my mom knows I'm with you."

"What'd you tell your dad?"

"I didn't have a chance to tell him anything," I say. "He left before I could."

He nods and says nothing as we reach Ben, who is staring cautiously at the two of us. I can see the jealousy in his eyes as he greets us. "Hi, Amy. Ricky."

"Hi, Ben," we both say simultaneously, and the glare between Ricky and Ben is so awkward that we walk past Ben and into the loud, crowded gym where everyone is already dancing. Ricky and I stop in our tracks between about six people dancing on either side of us; Adrian is walking this way, gaping at Ricky as she does so.

He looks at me, but I just look away off in the distance. He whispers something to me and over the music the only part I can catch is, "...just a minute."

He walks over to talk to her. I stand back and wait. "Hello," a low voice behind me says, a cold hand touching my shoulder. I flip around, seeing Eric there and I immediately wish we hadn't come here. I sigh. "Hey, Eric."

"Look, I'm sorry about the ignoring you thing. I should have told you about Amber. We just have this long history... She's very...peculiar.

I snort. "Yeah, she is... Why do you like her?"

"Why do you like that Ricky guy?"

I clench my jaw, looking away from him.

"Hey, I don't mean anything by it," he says. "I just came up to you to apologize. Forgive me?"

"Sure."

It's impossible to stay mad at him. When I finally look him into the eyes, I see that his face has gone soft. "See you later?" he says before I have the chance to say anything else, and then in my peripheral vision I can see Ricky walking up.

I nod, and he hugs me quickly and vacates.

"Do you wanna go?" Ricky whispers in my ear, and he doesn't give me time to answer. He puts his arm around my waist, and we go outside through the other door in the gym. We walk across the grass and step up into the gazebo, the music still loud enough to be heard.

It's already dark, and the small, bright lights attached to the top of the gazebo provide the only illumination.

"I'm sorry about that," I hear Ricky say as he grabs my hand.

"It's okay." I want to ask him what Adrian said, but I can't seem to make myself do that. He obviously doesn't feel obligated to explain.

He smiles. "Want to dance?"

I bite my lip. We've danced before—once—but I'm worried I'll disappear right here in front of him. Tonight just feels different. Or maybe I'll step on his feet. "I really can't dance," I say sheepishly.

As if what I said hasn't affected him at all, he smirks egotistically as he threads his fingers through mine and puts his other hand on my waist. "Everyone can dance," he claims. I sigh and put my free arm around his neck.

"So, what do you want to do later?" he asks. "I mean, do you want me to take you home or do you wanna come back to my apartment? Or take you home first so you can get your clothes or whatever and then come to my apartment—"

"I think maybe we should go straight to your apartment," I cut him off, smiling. "If we stop at my house first, my dad will definitely stop me. I should check in on John, though. I'll call my mom tonight."

He smiles and doesn't say anything at first, spinning me around once. "Amy," he says.

"Hm?—Ow." I almost stumble until his arms lock around me, and I know I would fall if he weren't holding me up. The almost falling incident causes my heart to pound, and I'm surprised that I don't disappear.

He chuckles. "So are you feeling better now?"

"What?"

"You were upset earlier."

"No, I wasn't. It's just...hard sometimes to deal with everything."

"I know, Amy." I feel his thumb brush over the side of my hand. "I wasn't kidding earlier when I said I feel connected to you. I've noticed that when I'm closer to you...you don't disappear as much. We've been together almost every day for the past month or so, and you haven't disappeared any."

"I think intimacy holds me here," I say, not that we've been intimate yet. "Closeness. I don't know why."

He smiles, running a hand through my hair. "_Amy_," he says quietly. I look into his eyes curiously as we continue to dance, just swaying really, as he obviously hesitates something. Then he says softly, "I love you."

My heart thuds as his words echo through my mind. _I love you. _"I love you too."

"Kiss me," I say.

_"One day, a girl is going to come to you, and she's going to tell you something, but you have to believe her. Then she will ask you to kiss her and you will dance._" I know what this means now. It doesn't resemble an action happening in one period of time; it's over time that these events happen. I told Ricky I time traveled, and he believed me. He told me that he loves me.

Somehow, I believe him.

He slightly leans down since I'm a few inches shorter than him—I've noticed that he's gotten taller—and he smirks before spinning me around again and kissing me.

After he pulls away, I tell him again, as if to seal it forever: "I love you."


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: _This is a short, filler chapter. The next chapter will most likely have a lot of Ricky in it, although I'm not sure when I can get the next chapter up, but I'll try to finish it soon. Eventually the updates should come a lot quicker once I get past this writer's block.

To respond to your questions/reviews:

_Kristin_, I don't know if this is what you meant, but the story has not ended. Actually, it's far from over.

_Kou Shun'u,_ I'd meant to reply earlier: Amy's handcuffs disappeared because she can not take anything out of the future and bring it into the present with her since it doesn't exist (in that condition) yet. You'll find out later why she can takes things from the present to another time.

_Princesakarlita411, _No, in the present Ricky can not time travel.

* * *

_Monday, July 6, 2011_

Amy

I put the dishes into the dish washer, turning the oven on for my mom's casserole she's baking. It's nine in the morning on a Monday; last night I randomly wound up stranded in the middle of nowhere for two hours while Ricky and I were at the beach.

I still feel like I'm in a blur.

"Mommy."

"Yeah, John?" I shut the oven door and walk into the dining room, scooping John off the floor into my arms.

He says nothing, burying his head into my hair. I kiss him and set him back down on the floor, where he crawls on his knees and then stands up on his legs, walking slowly across the floor. He stops and points when Ashley comes from down the hall.

"Amy," she says suspiciously.

She looks like she's on watch, with her eyebrows raised and her lips pursed impatiently. When John isn't in sight anymore as he stumbles back into the dining room, Ashley follows behind me into the living room, and I turn around to face her. "What, Ashley?"

"Amy," she says in her most serious voice, "you weren't home until one in the morning."

My stomach churns involuntarily. The suspicion in her voice is too powerful to be ignored; she has always been keen on noticing when things were off with someone, especially with me.

"So?"

She shakes her head. "So for the past year you've been acting really strange. Not one day the entire year have you been at home all day. You're always away, mysteriously. Now all I want to know is what's going on with you? You look like hell, Amy!"

I run a hand through my hair. "No, I don't."

"Yes, you do. And I _don't_ mean your hair."

"Then what do you—"

"Your eyes," she cuts me off immediately. "You look exhausted, all the time."

I can feel the stuttering coming up.. "Ashley, no-no...I'm just...growing up, is all. I may not be home every second of the day, but it's not like you are, either."

"Oh please, Amy! You're such a bad liar. Just...tell me what this is about." After I don't say anything, she continues. "You don't even have to tell me that something's going on, because I already know there is. I heard you and Ricky talking last night, when he dropped you off."

Oh, crap. "What—what all did you hear?"

"Hmm, how about—"she changes her voice to sound like me, which she fails at—"'I kept running but I didn't know where I was. It didn't make any sense. And it was _cold.' _How the hell can you explain that? What does it even mean? I seriously don't get it, and that's rare for me. I always know what's going on with you, but this time I don't have any idea."

"Ashley, no. It's nothing...nothing like that. It isn't...it isn't even anything. We were just talking..."

"I heard the _fear_ in your voice," she continued loudly as if I hadn't say anything. "Maybe everyone in the house is stupid but me, because I know something's going on! And besides, no one ever just_ talks_ anymore. There's a reason and meaning behind what you said. I heard the way you said it...the sound of your voice."

I can feel the anxiety rising in my stomach, my heart pounding in my chest. Every single noise, every click, is so distinctive to me now. My voice sounds so small. "You must have been hearing things."

"Amy—"

"It's nothing, okay? I swear."

She lowers her voice to a soft tone, the same tone she had used with me when she suspected I was pregnant. "Whatever it is, you can tell me...I thought you'd know that by now. I mean, sure, we don't exactly get along. But you are my sister. I won't tell anyone...whatever it is."

"I know that," I say gently, taking a deep breath so that my voice won't quaver. "I know, Ashley..."

"Are you and Ricky, like—"

"No."

"Are you hurt, are...I don't even understand—"

Sweat begins to rise on my forehead, and I feel lightheaded and short of breath. I wipe the sweat away with the back of my hand, taking slow, steady breaths to fill my lungs. Ashley continues to stare at me as I hyperventilate, and I can feel myself slipping away.

"Is it Ben?"

I flip around quickly, running past the living room couch and to wherever in the house I can reach first. I reach the door to my parent's room, and I open the door and run inside when I hear Ashley's footsteps close behind me. "Amy!"

I slam the door before she has a chance to come in, and I'm almost crying out of fear when I can't lock the door because she already has her hand on the doorknob. "Let me in!" she yells.

"No!"

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Go away! I don't...want you to see this. Please, Ashley!" I'm crying now. "Please just leave me alone!"

I'm too weak to hold the door for long, and I quickly stumble back a few steps when she manages to get through the door. She walks inside the room, taking out her cellphone from her pocket. "I'm calling Dad... You're scaring the hell out of me."

"No!" I throw the phone down, and it lands somewhere on the floor. The room is already spinning now, and I feel even more in a blur than I was earlier. I watch as she doesn't pick up the phone, and I know now that she can see me disappearing.

I watch her face change from frustration to horrified and shocked in just a few brief seconds, and before I have the chance to get away from her I'm gone.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

_Sunday, July 10, 2011_

Amy

Ashley and I have not spoken since the incident four days ago, nor have we hardly even looked at each other. Thinking about it causes a chill to run down my spine. I feel like I'm just wandering through time as the world moves on, and sometimes I don't feel like I'm moving with it.

I'm walking inside the house now; I see Ashley sitting solemnly on the living room couch, and I know that we have to talk about this sooner or later.

I walk up behind the couch, noticing how she doesn't even glance up at me. I almost chicken out, but right before walking out of the room I have a change of heart and turn back around and sit on the opposite end of the couch from her.

She looks at me and scowls. "What do you want?"

I take a deep breath. I figure that in this situation, less is more. The more I tell her the more complicated our relationship becomes that can put our family in jeopardy with no chance of ever mending. "What do you say—truce?"

Her brows furrow. "A truce? I don't know about that."

"You're my sister, Ashley. You can't stay mad at me forever."

"Is that what you think I am, Amy? I'm not mad. It just seems that...this family keeps falling more and more apart." She shakes her head. "I've never been a believer...that this stuff is real, whatever it is—"

"Me neither, Ashley, and it doesn't feel real, but it is."

"Is that why you've been hanging out with Ricky so much?"

"No. I've been hanging out with Ricky because I want to hang out with Ricky."

"Do you love him?"

"I do."

She sighs. "Look, all I know is I saw your face go completely... _pale_, and I thought you were just fainting. But then you were gone, Amy. Gone. You _disappeared_ right before my eyes."

I don't even know how to begin to explain it to her. I'm probably doing her a favor by keeping it to myself. "Ashley, what you saw...I can't even begin to explain to you. But what do you think happened?"

"I don't know," she mumbles. "I don't even have enough of a clue to surmise what happened to you. All I know is that after I saw you vanish I kept waiting for you to poke your head out from behind somewhere and yell _surprise!—_but you didn't."

"Can we just pretend nothing happened?"

She contemplates for a moment, then pulls her hands together. "Fine. But, nothing's wrong with you? You're not sick?"

"Not really, no. I'm not sick."

Her eyebrows pull together slightly, and she swallows slowly. I can see an unnamed fear in the depths of her mystified eyes, something that she's trying to keep closed in. It's truly the first time I've ever seen my sister so afraid, but she doesn't fight it. It surprises me.

I rest my hands nervously behind my back and fold them together. "I guess I'm gonna go to bed."

"Goodnight," she says quietly.

"'Night." I wonder if Ashley even has a clue, if maybe she can somehow figure this thing out on herself and accept me, ever. Because really, will anyone but Ricky ever accept me? It was such a surprise to me when he did, but obviously there's a reason he accepted me.

He told me that he felt connected to me, and maybe that's why; even if he doesn't really understand why he feels connected to me. And I don't even really know, myself.

* * *

_Saturday, July 30, 2011_

_Ricky_

It's ten-thirty p.m. on the thirtieth of July. I have John over for the weekend, and I'm standing over my bed after putting him to sleep; I have one of those studio apartments where every room is adjoining except for the hallway that leads to my bedroom and the bathroom, closed off with a door, and I have an actual music studio in the back of my apartment.

I tell John I love him, but I know he's already asleep so I shut the door quietly on the way out of my bedroom. I go into the living room and open the cabinet. I shuffle through the piles of papers that I meant to send for college — I start my first year of college in the fall — but haven't gotten around to it.

I set the papers on the glass coffee table to remind myself to complete them. I close the curtains to the windows behind my TV — a view of the Los Angeles skyline is visible when standing in front of them and cocking your head slightly to the left. I love my apartment. I feel like everything is so expensive here, all glass or wooden. The screen around my TV, the windows, the door of the china cabinet.

I leave all the lights off except for the weak light in the kitchen, which is right behind my living room, immediately going from wood to tile floor, so that if I sit on the sofa I have a glow of light across the room that leaves dim shadows on the wood floor.

I scoop up the papers from the table and look over them as I turn around to sit on the couch. But then I drop the papers when I hear shoes clicking against the hardwood, and the papers scatter across the floor. She comes into my view now. "Amy."

"Ricky?" She opens her mouth and then closes it as she gets a look at me, as if she's expecting someone else. "Hey, Ricky." Suddenly, her voice changes, filling with what seems like excitement. She smiles a pure, yet cautious smile before a hint of a smirk lingers on her face, in a way that I've never really seen before. She has on a black spaghetti strap tank top with her breasts practically popping out and blue jean shorts with heels. And her hair sweeps across her shoulders in long, curly brown locks. I've never seen her hair curly before.

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen," she answers, her eyes flickering around my apartment before routinely asking, "What's the date?"

"July 30th."

She smirks. "The year?"

"2011."

She nods her head, wanders around the living room, and then sits on the sofa, crossing her legs. "Wow, I could have sworn I was just here," she mumbles, as if talking to herself.

But I catch what she says, and I'm curious. She looks smug and all I can do is sit down beside her, shaking my head at the smug look on her face. Although I'm confused, I find myself mirroring her smug look, enjoying the new confidence I've rarely seen in her in my time. "You time traveled here recently?" I ask, the words 'time traveled' awkwardly rolling off my tongue.

"No, that isn't what I meant," she says. Furrowing my eyebrows, I wait for her to continue, but she sits still and doesn't elaborate. Silently, she's just watching me.

I can see a thousand different emotions darting across her expression: confidence, playfulness, curiosity, and maybe a little bit of carefulness and consideration. I feel like a bug under a microscope, like a guy on a first day. I can't make sense of what's happening, even with it right here in front of me, but I'm appreciating every moment of it_._ This version of Amy is sexy and mysterious.

Catching myself, I meet her eyes and finally break the silence, "How long do you think you'll be here?"

"Hell if I know. I would like to get back soon though, no offense. One minute I'm in the middle of something and the next I'm jumping into another time." Her nonchalance is making me extremely curious and even a little turned on, which may be the dominating reason why I'm able to forget the bizarreness of the concept.

"Yeah?" I ask with a smirk tugging slightly at the corner of my lips, testing her.

"Yeah." She notices my look and returns the smirk, then looks around. "Is John here?"

"He's sleeping in my room."

She nods and stands up, bending down on the floor and picking up the papers I dropped. She sits back down—her knees ghosting along mine—and holds the papers in her lap. "So, these are college applications, aren't they?"

"Yeah."

"You better send them in soon."

"Planning on doing that tomorrow."

"Good." She sets them down on the end table beside her.

I feel at a disadvantage with her here. I wonder why Amy shows up at my apartment so much, and what makes her stay longer. She's been here a couple of times before, but hasn't stayed longer than a couple of minutes. "Can I ask what you were doing before you showed up here?"

"I was," she paused, smirking, as if considering her words, "at school."

"At _school_? Should you not get back, then?"

I want to kiss the smirk off her face. "It doesn't matter. I wasn't at school for a class. It's not _essential _that I get back, although I'd like to. But it's okay." She smiles, stands up again and says, "I'm starving," as she pads into my kitchen.

I sit right up and follow after her. "Am I missing somethin'?"

"Well, I don't know, Ricky. What are you talking about?" she asks, her back towards me as she opens the refrigerator.

"Why do you seem all happy? You never look at me like that."

"Like _what_?" she laughs breathily. She turns around, sets food down on the kitchen table to prepare a sandwich and gets the bread out of the cabinet, knowing exactly where everything is kept. It's weird, because Amy in the present isn't familiar with where everything is yet.

"You look smug about something. Like I'm the punchline of some kind of joke," I add.

"No. I just love coming to the past." She puts the bread back into the cupboard and picks up the plate with her sandwich. "I mean, I know things that you don't. And I can also talk to you about how convenient sometimes time traveling can be. In my present, you hate it when I tell you that. You see it as a disadvantage, and I do too, of course, but sometimes it can be interesting. But I like coming to see you and people that have disappeared in my life, even if I can't get up close to them." Pausing, she mumbles under her breath, "And maybe I shouldn't have told you that. Don't want to piss you off." She's smiling, but there's something serious in her expression.

"Hmm." I don't really know what to say.

Following behind her as she heads into the living room, I take a seat beside her on my sofa. "You know," she says as she bites into the sandwich, "sometimes you and I like to leave the curtain open and stare at the cars passing by and whatever else. You see a lot of amusing things when you're looking for it."

"Really? Like what?"

"Oh, a lot. Way too many things to name. You will _never_ believe the things people do as they walk down the stairs, thinking that they're alone and no one can see them."

I smirk at her. "Isn't that, like, intruding?"

"Yeah, probably." She sets the partially-eaten sandwich down on the coffee table and rises from her seat, drifting into the hallway. I don't know what she's doing, so I don't follow her. Drawing in a deep breath, I look around the room as I wait for her to return. A minute later, I hear a door close quietly and she rejoins me on the couch. "He looks exhausted."

"John? Yeah, I guess. I put him to bed at ten-thirty."

"Mm. I miss that. Now, he'll never sleep that early. Even if we try to get him to sleep, he wants to stay awake with us."

"And we let him?"

"Yeah, sometimes."

"So am I with you a lot?"

She hesitates for whatever reason. "Mm-hmm."

"Is that all you're going to tell me?"

"There isn't anything to tell," she says, an almost guilty look spreading across her face. "I'm not keeping anything from you, really. Believe me, Ricky, I like to tell you things. You never tell me anything. You never have." With a shrug, she drifts from the subject, replacing it with humor. "But _anyway_, I come over here a lot. That's not saying that it didn't take my dad a long time to accept the fact that we're together." She laughs softly. "You know my dad. He still doesn't like it. I won't be surprised if he never gets used to it. But I'm an adult. I don't live with my parents anymore."

"Huh." I don't know what she means by _I never tell her anything_. What would I have to tell? "Where do you live?"

"I have my own apartment," she says.

"Oh." Without realizing it, I'm staring down the length of her body, my eyes sweeping across her collarbone and the curve of her breasts. It's not until I hear her chuckling softly above me that I realize what I'm doing and immediately tilt my head up. "Uh, you just look... different."

"Yeah," she agrees. "You look different too. More mature, kind of. You have facial hair."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Also, I may secretly like it. Oops," she pauses and grins as if she's remembering something, "guess it really wasn't a secret." When I meet her eyes, we both go silent, her gaze locked with mine. She scrapes her teeth slightly against her lower lip and her hand reaches out to touch my face, pushing her hand through my hair.

Then, sliding her hand slowly down my clothed chest, she leans closer to me and her fingers go to my shirt, toying with the top button before flipping it open. All I can do is watch her stiffly, not able to make sense of what's happening. Not able to understand how Amy Juergens can make me feel like a virgin. I freeze as she kisses me, her lips brushing against mine, and then she pulls away when she doesn't receive a response from me. "Is something wrong?" she whispers, moving her lips to my jaw.

"No."

She captures her lips with mine again and just lightly flickers her tongue out across my upper lip before seemingly stopping herself, as if she does something she's not supposed to be doing. As I lean into the kiss, she works on the rest of the buttons of my shirt, shoves the sleeves off my shoulders, and lets it fall to the floor. Her hand is sliding curiously over the muscles of my bare chest when she meets my eyes again. "You're so young, Ricky," she whispers with a soft laugh, smiling. "I love it."

As if something inside me snaps, my arm slips around her waist and I kiss her fervently, feeling her rapid breathing against the rise and fall of my chest. I shove my head underneath her shirt and feel the soft skin underneath my fingertips. Groaning quietly, I palm her breast in my hand, unable to control the desire that's causing my jeans to tighten. When she pulls away, I freeze and start to apologize._ Too fast. Damn, I shouldn't have done that._

But then she's pulling the tank top over her head, revealing a lacy red bra. I feel like I should stop this, but I don't want to.

My hand travels hesitantly along her thigh, and I'm looking at her as if waiting for the Amy I know to stop me. But she doesn't. "I kinda feel like I'm cheating."

She rolls her eyes and chuckles. "Yeah, you're cheating on me for me. _God, _you're in trouble, Ricky."

I laugh. "John's in the other room, Amy."

"He's sleeping," she reassures me in a whisper. She grabs the blanket from the top of the couch and spreads it over us.

I grab her and kiss her again, liking this Amy. I love Amy either way, but this is really _hot_. I slide my hand behind her back and unclasp her bra, and I can feel her smile against my lips. She falls down with me on the couch and holds herself on top of me. "_Finally_, I can feel as experienced as you because I'm older than you," she says in a quiet, sexy murmur.

My head is spinning. "Amy," I say, "have you done this before?" _Other than band camp_, I should have said. I don't want to take her innocence away again, especially if she only did it that one time. But judging by her confidence, there's not much innocence left.

"Mm-hmm," she mumbles. She unbuttons my jeans and lets me pull them off. Because John is sleeping in the next room, it's a little difficult, trying to work around the silence of the house and to avoid making too much noise. The rest of her clothes she shakes into a pile on the floor. There's a condom in her hand.

"Where did you get that?"

"Your room," she says.

"Ah, so you weren't just checking on John."

She chuckles. "I _was_, but then I got curious. I didn't know you had them in your room already. You must be planning on seducing me soon, huh?"

"I don't know," I mumble lowly with a smirk. "Would I just be wasting my time?"

"Mm." She moans breathily and her heated gaze follows me as I sit up and shove my boxers down, dropping them into the pile of our clothes. I rip open the foil packet and slide the condom down over my length. Pushing her back into the couch, I settle between her legs. Her arm slides around my neck and she kisses me passionately, only want filling the air where she lets another moan escape when I kiss down her neck. "You might just be surprised," she finally says.

Knowing that our time is limited, I don't waste anytime before pushing into her. With a quiet gasp, her head falls back and she bites roughly down on her lip as if trying to keep quiet. My lips latch onto hers again, kissing her with as much as I can. And as I kiss her, I realize how it's as if I'm trying to hold onto her.

As I start a pace inside her, our bodies rocking and sliding together, our lips moving eagerly together to suppress the moans in the air, and her thighs hitching around my waist to pull me closer to her, I realize how it's as if we're racing against a ticking clock.

With one more thrust of my hips, I can feel her clenching around me before taking me with her. Panting, my head drops against her shoulder and my eyes snap closed. She lets out a quiet strangled cry as she rides out her orgasm.

Finally, when she stops trembling, I kiss her lips and lie silently with her, just the sound of our breathing filling the air. After a minute, as if feeling like there's not much time left, she shifts slightly and I let her slide out from underneath me.

"I can't believe you haven't told me about this," she mumbles as she reaches for her clothes off the floor. She almost sounds offended. "You should tell me more things, Ricky. It makes me feel distant from you sometimes, and I don't like that."

"Uh, sorry." I don't know what else to say. I'm still in awe. I grab my boxers and slip them on as she quickly slides her clothes on. She sighs and leans down to kiss me, and I close my eyes. "What's wrong?" she asks.

Initially, I'm taken aback. Is she asking me what's wrong when she's the one acting off? "Nothing."

"Ricky. Did I do something wrong—"

"Not at all," I assure her, though still suspicious of her behavior. "I'm just not used to this."

She looks up from where she's sitting on the floor and smiles pointedly. "What? Ricky Underwood's not used to sex?" She raises an eyebrow.

"Not with you," I tell her. She smiles and looks like she wants to say something, but instead she turns her head away and pulls her shorts on, sliding her shirt on over her head. "How am I supposed to tell you in the present?"

"You don't," she says, the look from before returning. "Remember? I told you that already. You never told me. You don't tell me a lot of things." She stops. "How long have I been here?"

"I don't know. An hour and a half or so."

"Ugh," she mutters and moves around on the floor like she's searching for something.

I sit up. "What?"

"My shoes are _gone_," she says in a rush. "They were just - they were expensive shoes. I can't leave without them."

"Did you not leave them on the floor?"

"I don't remember, Ricky. I tossed them somewhere."

I look around on the floor with her, and look behind the sofa, but there's nothing there. Amy's sitting with her head resting on her knees. "I'm not staying for much longer. _Anyway,_ they're just shoes. I love you, Ricky."

I'm speechless for a second. I sit on the couch and she leans up to kiss me. "I love you," I tell her, and I fall back on the couch as she disappears. I feel something hard against my back, and I pull it in front of me and find Amy's high heel, the only thing she left behind.


	16. Chapter 16

_**A/N: **_This chapter is mostly Ricky and Amy, but the next chapter I'm going to focus on developing the rest of the characters. And it's somewhat short, but I haven't updated in so long – which I'm terribly sorry for. I've rewritten this chapter a dozen times, but nothing seems right. Hope you enjoy! Not the best though, probably. And after this chapter, there will most likely be a small time jump because I'm tired of writing within the same few months. It's just getting difficult and tiring.

* * *

The broken clock is a comfort;  
it helps me sleep tonight;  
maybe it can stop tomorrow  
from stealing all my time.

I am here still waiting  
though I still have my doubts.  
I am damaged at best,  
like you've already figured out.

In the pain there is healing  
In your name, I find meaning  
So I'm holding on, I'm holding on  
_I'm barely holding on to you_

_Tuesday, August 9, 2011_

The library is silent and cool as I walk past the shelves looking for the music section, although the room is dim and the printed words on the marble stone of the shelves are faded. The room is nearly empty, filled with a few readers at the tables behind the computers. I go to the front desk and ask the thin, dark-haired woman where I can find books containing sheet music or song suggestions. She peers over the shelves, pointing to the section behind the catalogs.

I've applied for a part-time job as a music teacher's assistant at the daycare, a different facility than where I had worked right after John was born. If I get the job I'll help teach five through eight years old music.

I sift through the books, scanning through and reading the covers. I grab one from the bottom shelf and sit on my knees, opening the book to the first page. There's a picture of a historical jazz musician and a biography and several dates. I close it, finding a book on the top shelf. It has just what I'm looking for so I check it out with my library card and walk ten blocks home.

I reach my front porch where my dad is sitting quietly at the swing and I sit down beside him. It's late evening and the sky is turning gray. "My girl's growing up," he says.

"I'm just a day older than I was yesterday."

He nods, saying nothing. I start to ask him why he's sitting out here alone but I can't seem to make myself speak. He shakes his head. "You know, you're almost the age your mother was when she got pregnant with you."

"I've already been pregnant," I say. "That won't happen again for a long, long time."

"Really. Let's hope."

"Can you see me with another baby now?"

"Eh, no," he scoffs. "I won't even try to imagine my baby with two babies."

I laugh. "Okay." We're silent for a moment, both lost in thought. I think about the conception of time and wonder what my parents were like when they were my age. It doesn't seem like that long ago when they _were._

"Promise you won't forget us."

"What?"

He grins. "When you move out and have a great life don't forget that your family's here."

"I couldn't forget. I'll be around, a lot. And I won't be moving out immediately once I hit eighteen. I'm not ready. Senior year hasn't even started."

"Good." He looks at the book I'm holding. "What's that?"

"A music book. It has sheet music and songs – I may get a job at the daycare."

"Oh?"

"As a music teacher's assistant," I explain. "I applied a couple of weeks ago."

He nods. It's getting darker and we go inside and I tell him goodnight before going to my room, shutting the door, with my promise still intact to not grow up too fast. However, I begin to realize that as time passes I may inevitably not be able to keep that promise.

* * *

_Tuesday, August 30, 2011_

It's 3:30 in the morning and with my sick child in the next room and low speaking coming from Ricky's living room, I can't sleep. I'm in Ricky's apartment bedroom, and I can't even keep my eyes shut long enough to fall asleep.

"..._ call the doctor in the morning._"

And then Gretchen says something to Ricky, but I don't catch what she says. Ricky's voice is deep, and I strain my ears so I'm able to hear. The walls are thin, but not thin enough. "... _see if Amy's awake_."

I sigh and sit up in the bed after hearing my name, lethargically walking past the bed and sitting down at the brown desk against the wall, leaning on my elbow. The door opens just seconds after, and Ricky immediately sees me and looks apologetic. "Sorry, I – didn't know if you were awake or not."

"Yes," I sigh, slight annoyance in my voice.

"I'm sorry," he repeats. "I'll call the doctor in the morning."

"He's not getting any better?"

"No, not really. His fever is nearing 103."

I stand up, pulling my straight brown hair behind my shoulders, and I look down at myself and remember that I'm only wearing one of Ricky's big T-shirts that reaches just below my mid-thigh. I didn't have any of my clothes and I wasn't planning on getting out of bed again. "_Um,_"—I begin, searching Ricky's eyes for some evidence of what he may be thinking. He doesn't say anything, just holds the baby monitor in his hand looking professional about the father thing. "Good night," is all he says, but I clear my throat.

"Can we not _do something_?"

It takes him a few seconds to reply. "_What_?"

"Why is he not getting better? We must not be doing something right," I say quickly, trying to avoid the awkward conversation that I never meant to imply.

"You mean _I _must not be doing something right," he corrects me, and his voice sounds almost bitter, but I could easily be mistaken considering that neither of us has gotten any sleep in over 24 hours.

"I,"—grabbing the baby monitor from his hand, I walk over to the bed and sit down. "—Sorry."

He reluctantly follows after me, but he stands over me and doesn't sit down. "Can I have the baby monitor back?" I didn't expect him to say that. "I'm not going to leave Gretchen in the room alone to watch our kid."

I'm at a loss for words. Without saying anything, I open Ricky's closet door to find pants that perhaps may actually fit me. He stands a couple of feet behind me as I shuffle through the racks. "What the hell are you doing?"

I move around him to turn on the lamp sitting on the end-table beside the bed, then go back into the walk-in closet and take another step farther, reaching over to pull a hanger holding jeans from the far right of the tiny room. It doesn't budge, so I take another step and stumble over a plastic box on the floor. "_Crap_!" And I ram my elbows into the wall and topple over onto the carpet, the components of the container scattering on the floor in front of me.

I sigh, sitting with my knees pulled into my body. Curious, I pick up a small picture – the first thing I come to – and blow off the thin layer of dust, coughing as the particles of the dust dissolve into the air.

"Ricky, who is this?"

Hesitantly, he moves some clothes over to sit down beside me, looking at the photograph. "My mother," he says quickly, turning away from me. He takes it from me and puts it back into the container.

"Ricky, don't," I whisper.

He shakes his head. "Don't what?"

"Stop pulling away from me. Don't shut me out, okay?"

He stuffs the box at the other side of the wall and sits in front of me, his back against the wall as his stares blankly down with his poker face. "I don't try to."

"That's the point," I say, "you _do, _without even realizing it."

"Look, I'm sorry. I'm just tired and—"

"Yeah, we all are. I'm sorry I'm so grouchy. But you are, _too,_" I say, and he looks up at me and smirks although it doesn't reach his eyes. "John will be okay. I know that. So we'll call the doctor in the morning, and until then, let's try not to worry."

He's staring at me with disbelief at my sudden change of behavior. "You wanna go to sleep, then?"

"No, I probably can't. Check on Gretchen?"

He nods and walks out of the room; I hear the door open and close and the house is so silent I can even hear his footsteps down the hall. The room is completely dark and three minutes later I consider getting up to turn the closet light on, but Ricky returns with a clear bottle of wine and a glass and simply sits down beside me as if it's the most natural thing he's ever done.

He pours some wine in the glass and hands it to me. "Here's to being eighteen."

I giggle softly and slowly drink. I turned eighteen fifteen days ago and it's the first real time I've drunk alcohol and probably the first time for him as well, I assume. I let it go down my throat and almost forget. "Well?"

He raises his eyebrows slightly. "_Well_?"

"Gretchen—?"

"—is asleep on the couch," he tells me.

I nod and then stand up, slowly. "Let's get out of this closet, okay?" He stands up with me and we both crawl into the bed together, facing each other, our knees touching. "So tell me about your mom."

He sighs but I can see him give in, warily. "What about her?"

"What's she like?"

"She,"—he drinks to pass the time, "—Like me, in a way, I guess. Always running from my father." There's more to the story, I can see, but I know he doesn't want to delve into the rest now.

"She ran with you?"

"Yes," he swallows. "She _tried_ when I was younger. But then he came after her. And he always found us, wherever we went. Always there to hurt us, so it never made a difference."

"Did you ever see me, Ricky?"

He's confused. "Did I ever see you?"

"You were young, four or five, so I know you probably don't remember. I just don't understand how you can forget something so—"

"Amy, what are you talking about?"

"Nothing, I just—" Not knowing how or wanting to elaborate, I put my hand on his chest against his faded gray shirt, the glass in my other hand, and lean close to his face. My voice comes out as a whisper, and we kiss, like gravity, and I'm not exactly sure who initiated it. There's alcohol on our breath and oddly enough I like it, and for once it feels natural, like it's something I should be doing all the time. He pulls away to look at me, searching my eyes like I had done earlier, and then pulls back in.

We talk between kisses, and he goes first: "I want to be good for you, Amy. But I need you to help me know how."

I smile and shake my head. "But you _are_."

Our lips meet again, and then he kisses my neck, stopping at my the top of my chest, his hand on my leg until he touches my thigh. I undo the top three buttons on his shirt and he pushes me down on the bed, hovering over me, and I realize that I'm trembling and I wonder if he can hear my heart pounding in my chest. Maybe he does, because he pulls away, or maybe it's because he realizes that this can't happen now, and he lies down beside me. Both of say nothing, lost in thought.

I sigh, turn on my side with my leg brushing against him and lay my head down on his shoulder, and we both fall asleep that way.

I wake up in the morning to Gretchen knocking on the door lightly. I look at Ricky as he's still asleep and I go into the closet, grabbing the jeans I began to reach for last night. I pull them on but they're too big on me. I grab a hair pin from my purse and as awkward as it seems I pull the excess material together in the back and pin the fabric together, and I cover it with the overly-large t-shirt.

Gretchen looks exhausted when I open the door. She's wearing a black robe that's much too warm for the summer and her curly blonde hair falls messily around her shoulders. "Good morning," she says, peering into the room.

"Morning. Did you just wake up?"

"Yes. Sorry."

"Sorry?" I ask, walking down the hall with her and into the extra bedroom where John lies. I stand over the bed, feeling his forehead, and then I grab the thermometer and sigh when I discover that his temperature has gone down to 99.1. "His fever's broke," I whisper in relief, and Gretchen puts her arm around me.

* * *

**A/N: **So there you go. I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, but this is just a filler to get me past this writer's block and moving the story to where I want it to go. Sorry, little inspiration leads to poor quality chapters. Let's just hope that the writer's block goes away soon. And I know I can never say this enough, so thank you, reviewers! You guys are my inspiration, even if I don't have much inspiration left with this story right now. And that's because all of the chapters right now are just buildup; the chapters will be updated much, much quicker when the buildup chapters are over.

I know the answers to everything that's going on; just letting you know once again. This was well-thought out on my part. I've taken a break from writing it, and now I want to get writing again, and this chapter has actually helped me to do that.

Please review!


	17. Author's Note

Alright... Here I am back with another Author's Note. I know it's been over a year, but I've had a few requests to continue this story, and honestly, I'd love to. I still have my documents on my other computer that has my outline on it so I can pull it up and try to write the next chapter. If anyone's interested, I really will update this time! Just let me know.


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